In Fear of Solitude
by Secondary Luminescence
Summary: Harriet Potter returns to Hogwarts, still disguised as a boy in her effort to become a professional Quidditch player despite traditional restrictions on women. But when students begin turning into stone, she finds herself becoming isolated. Odd things are happening, and not just inside of Hogwarts. Fem!Harry, innuendo, implications of M topics. Sequel to 'In Love of Quidditch'.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: If you haven't read _In Love of Quidditch_, most of this story probably won't make sense.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to J.K. Rowling. This disclaimer applies to all subsequent chapters of this story. In addition, the premise for this story is based on Murkybluematter's _Pureblood Pretense_. I have received permission from my fellow fanfic author to play with a somewhat similar plot. I would like to note that I have not read any of the sequels to _Pretense_, in order to better preserve my own originality, such as it is. Any similarities are coincidental. I would also like to point out that both of us are working with a general plot that combines some aspects of Tamora Pierce's _Song of the Lionness_ quartet, which almost certainly contributes to aforementioned similarities.

Warnings: Fem!Harry, twin!Harry, violence, minor swearing, implied mature topics

* * *

Harry glared across the chessboard at her brother. "Really?" she asked, half-whine and half-sigh. She reached out and flicked her king over. The white piece muttered something in French - the set had come to Potter Manor as part of her Grandmother Dorea's dowry - and hauled itself to the side of the board.

Alex just grinned smugly. "It's educational," he said with a grin. "And plus, I'm one of the four best players at my school; it's only logical that you be good at it."

Harry rolled her eyes at his rather pitiful argument, but didn't protest as Alex set up the board for yet another game - the fifth of the afternoon. It wasn't like she had much else she could do; she and her father had been at odds for nearly the entire summer. It had taken James Potter an entire week to be at home long enough to realize that his daughter had chopped her hair off and was sporting a very unfeminine and extremely untraditional cut, but when he had, the resulting explosion had been…well, _not pretty _would be an understatement. There had been screaming on Harry's part, and shouting and threats and, in the end, cutting disappointment on James' part, with Alex doing his best to try and calm both his twin sister and his father down to more reasonable states. Poor Triss, the youngest of the family house elves, had hunkered down in the far corner of the dining room, rocking and crying as the argument progressed.

Neither Harry nor her father gave in: Harry had kept her short hair, refusing the hair-growth draught her father had waved under her nose, and had been confined to her room until she drank it. She hadn't, not even when Alex pointed out that she could always cut her hair again come September.

"That's not the point," she'd snapped at him. "Dad's got to get used to me having short hair eventually; might as well be now." In any case, the confinement wasn't very good. She had two methods of escape - the first through the secret passage that led down to her brother's room, and the second out her window on her Nimbus 2000. Her father had spelled the door (and try as they might they couldn't figure out how he'd managed to create such precise wards; Alex had spent nearly two weeks studying them before giving up), but had neglected the windows, thinking that the fourth floor was far too high for anyone to think about climbing down. After all, _he_ didn't know that she had a broom; if he had, he likely would have shut her into a room in their cellar, because flying a broom was a far greater offense than cutting her hair could ever be.

Girls weren't allowed to fly - not even on the outmoded family-sized brooms or the outlawed flying carpets. And not being allowed to fly was what had driven Harry to cutting her hair in the first place - but that had only been the beginning. Harry had spent the past year at Hogwarts pretending to be a boy. Her father was - thankfully - still under the impression that she had spent her first year of magical schooling at Asclepius Academy of Magic in the tiny country of Andorra. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Even though she had initially been slated to attend the internationally-acclaimed school, she and her brother had devised a plan that would allow each of them to follow their hearts: Harry would attend Hogwarts disguised as a boy so that she could play Quidditch, and Alex would study at Asclepius in the Curse-Breaking program, which would allow him to graduate as a fully qualified curse-breaker instead of studying for the extra two years that a Hogwarts graduate would have to.

The trade had gone smoothly, despite three of Harry's peers discovering her gender. Even when she'd been attacked by a troll, her father hadn't traveled to Hogwarts. She could only praise the oft-lamented fact that her father was working more often than not, as he had been for as long as she could remember. Now she and Alex were gearing up for their second year in their respective schools.

Some of their deception was easy. They both took most of the same classes, the only differences being that Alex was enrolled in the mandatory Basic Law course, and had to study Astronomy on his own. A good portion of the summer had been spent with Alex tutoring Harry in what he'd learned at Asclepius, and not just subject-wise. Harry had had to memorize the names of all of his teachers, all of the class names - because not even those were the same - , and all of the students in his year. She could only take pleasure in the fact that he had to do much the same for what she'd learned at Hogwarts, right on down to the six members of her Quidditch Team and the forty members of her class. Alex didn't even know all the names of the people in _his_ class without looking at his stack of notes, and there were only twenty-one of them.

But even while grounded by her father, Harry wasn't idle. She had already completed the summer assignments from her professors at school - including the extensive essays for Professor Snape - and had discussed everything from the topics of the homework to which classes she wanted to take in her third year with her best friend, Hermione Granger, via owls. She had written her other best friend, Neville Longbottom, a few times, but since he and his grandmother were on a retreat to the Ivory Coast, they hadn't exchanged more than four letters in the past six weeks. Fred and George had written once, which, in all honesty, was more than she'd expected, to tell her the date of their annual shopping trip to Diagon Alley, and a request that she 'show her ugly mug'. She'd written back with a rude response that had Alex grinning appreciatively as he read over her shoulder.

She had also been exchanging periodic letters to Remus Lupin, the man who had raised herself and Alex for the first five years of their lives, and Alex's godfather, even though the wards around the manor wouldn't allow any of his replies to enter the grounds. Instead, she would fly the edges of the wards, searching for where the disgruntled owls would drop the letters on the ground before flying the rest of the way to their roosts. The last letter had come only that morning, after nearly two weeks of nothing. Remus had been sent on a long country-hopping trip by his employers - a high-end Muggle book store that specialized in rare tomes - to search out new books.

Remus' letter was part of the reason that Harry was being so patient with her brother's flimsy excuses to get her to play chess. Normally, she would have abandoned her room after the second or third game for either a long fly around the property or quiet solitude in the room in the dungeons of Potter Manor that her father had turned into a sort of mausoleum for her mother's belongings. But today, she was willing to put up with far more than usual, because tomorrow she would be getting out of the house for real. Tomorrow, she and Alex would be Flooing to Diagon Alley to meet Remus for the first time in almost seven years. They were guaranteed safety from their father finding out, too, because it was their birthday, and the anniversary of their mother's death. In accordance with how their previous birthdays had gone, James Potter would present them with their gifts that night at dinner, and then be gone by the time the two of them woke up on the day of their birth. They wouldn't see him again until one, or maybe even two, days into August.

* * *

True to her expectations, Harry's father showed up at half-past six, much earlier than he normally returned from his work as an Unspeakable. Alex had gone down to his room twenty minutes earlier, and Harry had, grudgingly, put on a dress and done her short-cropped hair in as feminine a style as possible, held back with a blue silk ribbon that matched the embroidery on her dress.

When her father showed up at her door to escort her down to the dining room - she'd been receiving all of her meals in her room - she couldn't help but give him a half-hearted scowl.

"Father," she said loftily, allowing him to take her hand so that she could bypass the wards.

"You look lovely, Harriet," he replied in a stiffly formal voice. He relaxed a little and added, "Alexander is waiting downstairs for us."

They walked along in silence, greeting those few portraits that called out to them. Harry thanked a fair few of her ancestors for their birthday wishes, and ignored some others when they commented on her hair.

As they approached Alex's room - directly beneath hers - Harry asked, "Why don't you want me to have my hair short? Most of my friends have short hair."

"Most of your friends are boys," James pointed out tersely, and then sighed. "Your mother took great pride in her hair, and talked at great length of how she would fix yours on your sixteenth birthday." Harry was shocked into silence - her father had never once spoken of her mother to her face.

"I - " Her question was cut off by Alex opening his door and stepping out into the hallway. Like Harry, he had dressed in fancier clothes than he usually wore. In lieu of his normal denims, he wore beige slacks and a collared shirt.

When he saw her, he grinned and quipped, "So the animal has escaped at last!"

Harry grinned back at him. "The animal has been let out for good behavior." Then she relented and asked the question that she always did just before dinner. "First or second?"

He hesitated before saying confidently, "First." It was a constant bet between the two of them: which of their cakes would come out first. Every year, the six house elves of the Potter Estates - Triss, Troy, Tiber, Leena, Matilda, and Roquefort - made Harry and Alex their own birthday cakes, going overboard with the embellishments until the confections were almost too beautiful to eat. Leena and Matilda would often work for three days just planning the decorative pastries.

"Yours came out first last year," Harry pointed out as she fell back to walk with Alex behind their father. "Don't you think the elves will switch it up?"

Alex shrugged. "They might forget. And it's not like I actually lose anything if mine isn't first." Harry nodded her agreement. The 'prize' for the winner was a day of the other agreeing to do whatever they wanted, and since they were planning on sneaking out to Diagon Alley anyways, this year it didn't matter. Last year Harry had won and they had spent most of the day reading, although she had made him wear one of her frilliest - and therefore most hated - dresses for an hour during lunch.

Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable. James spent a good portion of the meal talking with the portrait of his parents, the only functional portrait in the dining room. Over lamb chops and mashed potatoes, Harry noticed that her mother's mute portrait was empty, as it usually was when her father was around.

Finally, the cakes came out, as well as all six of the house elves. For the occasion, the cakes were carried out by hand instead of merely floated along with magic. Harry grinned smugly at Alex when Troy brought the first cake to her. Alex pouted good-naturedly, but cheered up when his own cake, decorated to look like a crouching dragon (Harry grimaced slightly, remembering Norbert), was placed in front of him. Harry swallowed heavily when she looked at her own cake; it seemed that Leena and Matilda had focused on magical animals this year, because hers bore an uncanny resemblance to a dozing unicorn. She hadn't been able to think of unicorns in the same way since the disastrous detention in the Forbidden Forest only a few months prior.

"It looks amazing, thank you," she told the anxiously waiting elves. They relaxed and beamed at her, and then at Alex when he echoed her sentiments.

"Dad?" she asked.

"The usual," he replied. Harry nodded and sliced a piece from the hindquarters of the unicorn. As always, her cake was plain vanilla, with a layer of orange filling in the middle. She passed the slice to her father before cutting a piece for herself. Across the table, Alex was slicing himself a piece from his dragon. Whereas Harry preferred the simple vanilla cake, he always had carrot cake, which she despised.

With themselves served, Harry and Alex each cut three more slices - one for each of the elves, who bowed and curtsied their thanks before disapparating soundlessly back to the kitchen where they would enjoy their rare luxury. It had taken Harry and Alex years to get their father to allow the elves to have a piece, and that was with Remus to help them.

When the dessert was finished, James summoned their gifts from the cabinet in the corner of the room. Harry received a new dress robe in a sophisticated style - pale lavender with a sleeveless sheer overrobe in dove grey -, a new hairbrush with her initials embossed into the silver backing, and two books: _Magic Threads: A Compendium of Sewing Charms_ and _The Hairdresser's Helper_. She raised a skeptical eyebrow at the first title, but thanked her father all the same. His attempts to form her into a proper lady were too little and too late. Although she had to admit that the robes were very nice.

Alex had smothered a grin at her gifts, and she watched in turn as he unwrapped a beginner's Futhark runestone set, a large book of Quidditch tactics, and an even thicker book titled _Runes of the World_. He barely had time to thank James before their father was on his feet and leaving the room. Harry and Alex stared across the table at each other and heaved a sigh in tandem.

Harry followed her father's example, only pausing to gather her gifts before heading back to her bedroom. Their birthday was never a happy time of year in the Potter household.

* * *

The next morning, Harry was woken by an incessant tapping at her window. Yawning and muttering vague threats under her breath when she caught sight of the clock on her bedside table - not even six yet! - she stumbled to the window and opened it, letting five owls in. One of them was a Potter family owl - a common Barn owl by the name of Sylvester - but none of the others were immediately recognizable. It was only after three of them dropped their packages on the bed and roosted on various perches around the room - the back of her desk chair, the top of one of the posts of her bed, and the top of her armoire - that she was able to identify them.

The Weasley twins, it seemed, had managed to 'borrow' Percy's owl, Hermes, who was now inspecting the room with quiet solemnitude. A tawny owl that she knew to be from Neville had taken advantage of the end of its journey to rest; it was a long flight from Africa to Wales. The owl belonging to the Potter family had dropped its package and flown right back out the window, doubtlessly headed for the small room set aside for the three owls they owned. Of the unknown owls, the larger of the two had allowed its letter to flutter to her desk before wheeling around and leaving, while the smaller - the smallest of all the owls, actually - was staring at her with an almost baleful expression on its face.

"Erm. Thanks?" she said uncertainly to the unhappy owl. It screeched, and she winced.

"Right, right! Let me just…" she moved to the bed and picked up the small, flat package that it had carried. She tore open the paper, only just catching the parchment that fluttered lose by the tips of her fingers. Quickly, she read it.

_Dear Harry,  
Happy birthday, to you and my godbrother. I look forward to seeing  
you in a month's time on the Hogwarts Express. In the meantime,  
perhaps you and he should study your gift. Not everyone with the talent  
is registered, after all.  
Your Brother by Oath,  
Cedric_

Harry turned the present over; it was a slim book, almost certainly second-hand judging by its scuffed corners. The title explained its disrepair: _Building Walls: A Comprehensive Guide to Shoring Up Your Mind and Exploring Your Center_. Books on Mind Magic were very rare, and impossible to buy without having to register your name with the Ministry of Magic. Cedric must have gotten the book for when he was learning Occlumency. She made a mental note to write him a very thankful response; both Dumbledore and Snape were Master Occlumens and Legilimens, and both knew that she knew a modicum of Legilimency. It would only take a single thought on her part for one of them to find out her secret. Even though Cedric wasn't her brother by blood, he was looking out for her like one.

The owl screeched again, and she swore, using a phrase she had learned from Oliver. "Alright, I'll write a note for you!" she snapped, shooing it off the back of her chair and taking a seat at her desk. She lit the lamp with a tap of her finger at the base of its stand and hurriedly penned an appropriate response, taking care to use her best penmanship. The owl barely waited for the ink to dry, nipping at her fingers as she rolled it up and tied it to its leg.

"Little monster," she muttered as it spread its wings, clipping the side of her head, and soared out the window, leaving only a few feathers behind to show that it had ever been there. Still scowling, she picked up the letter the largest of the owls had dropped on her desk. A smile crept over her face when she saw that it bore the Hogwarts crest. She ripped it open eagerly.

_Dear Mr. Potter,  
As a returning student to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,  
you are reminded to ascertain that your uniforms and robes fit properly,  
and to replace those that do not. In addition, please note that you are  
now permitted to bring a broomstick, although having a broomstick  
does not in any way guarantee a position on your House's Quidditch  
Team. No flying is allowed between sunset and sunrise unless  
supervised by a Professor or a Quidditch Captain.  
Second year students will require:  
_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade Two) _by Miranda Goshawk_  
Break with a Banshee _by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Gadding with Ghouls _by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
Holidays with Hags _by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Travels with Trolls _by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
Voyages with Vampires _by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
Wanderings with Werewolves _by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
Year with the Yeti _by Gilderoy Lockhart  
Please purchase your supplies before the first day of class. The Hogwarts  
Express will depart from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters promptly at  
eleven o'clock a.m. of the first of September.  
Sincerely,  
Professor M. McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress _

Harry frowned at the book list. She'd never heard of Gilderoy Lockhart before, but the titles of his books didn't seem very promising. 'Gadding with Ghouls'? 'Wanderings with Werewolves'? She sighed and put the letter down. Ghouls weren't capable of conversing, and werewolves, while essentially normal wizards for twenty-seven days a month, weren't safe to be around on the full moon, even if they had taken the Wolfsbane Potion.

Her spirits picked up when she saw the three other gifts on her bed, and she abandoned the letter for a later date. Leaving Hermione's gift for last, she somewhat hesitantly opened the parcel from the twins, half-expecting a prank. Instead, she found herself holding a soft, stretchy piece of fabric. When she held it up, her face flushed bright red. The twins had sent her a camisole - a muggle skin-tight one, not the old-fashioned kind she sometimes had to wear under dresses - in a pale cream, only a few shades lighter than her skin-tone. A note pinned to the front of it read, quite simply, _For your comfort. F &amp; G_

Her embarrassment faded and she smiled, touched by the thought. The twins might be insensitive arses and incredibly frustrating at times, but they could also be surprisingly insightful. Over the summer, her body had started to change - not very much, and certainly not enough for any of the boys on the Quidditch team to notice, since the the majority didn't have a clue that she was a girl, but enough that she was going to feel very exposed in the locker room during the coming year. If any of the others asked about the camisole, she could just say she was cold. It was a running joke among the older players that Harry was always cold. She was far smaller than the boys on the team, and as she tended to stay high up in the air where it was colder and always breezy, and didn't have to wrestle with the Quaffle or the Bludgers, she often caught chills, despite the two layers of the Quidditch uniform.

Neville's gift was just as thoughtful as the twins', although a bit less personal. He had, probably with the influence of his grandmother, sent her a golden tie-clip in the shape of a lion with real rubies for eyes. It was a very handsome gift, and she wondered if the Lady Dowager Longbottom knew that there was a young female Potter around Neville's age. In any case, she hoped that Neville liked the Preservative Globe she had ordered for him; it was a rather uncommon item that would preserve anything placed within it for an indefinite period of time, which made it perfect for herbologists who needed to keep a clipping fresh in order to cultivate it. It was also used for medical purposes, but on a larger scale and with a lot more risk involved.

Hermione's gift was not a book. When the small wooden box fell out of the wrapping, Harry's mouth dropped open. Her one female friend - the one that knew least about Quidditch - had sent her a brand new Snitch! Her astonishment morphed into a grin as she deftly opened the box and plucked the shining Snitch from its satin-covered case. The wings sprang open and started to flutter against her fingers, but she didn't let it go; she couldn't risk it getting out into the rest of the house. Instead, still grinning, she waited for the wings to close - it took exactly thirty-three seconds of constant contact with flesh - and gently placed it back in its box.

Her good mood lasted well past breakfast. Alex was equally as happy, having received presents from his own friends, and the two of them spent until eleven o'clock in Harry's room, long past when Triss came to clear away their dishes.

Harry had just finished fully explaining the concept of Occlumency and Legilimency to Alex - they had only briefly discussed it in their first weeks back from school - when she glanced at her clock.

"We should get ready," she said, closing the tattered book Cedric had sent her and putting it at the bottom of her stack of school books. "Remus will be at Fortesque's in half an hour."

Alex also looked towards the clock. "Excellent," he said enthusiastically, already moving towards the bathroom door and the secret passage within. "I can ask him about Brazilian ruins!"

"He didn't go to any ruins!" Harry shouted after him as she pulled a pair of trousers from her trunk. Although Remus would probably be scandalized at her wearing boy's clothes, it couldn't be helped. Diagon Alley was a public place, and the only easily-accessible place to shop in England. There was, supposedly, a small wizarding street in Dublin, but Harry didn't even know the name, let alone how to get there. Since it was very likely that Harry would see some of her fellow Hogwarts students, she had to dress like she did during the school year: as a boy.

The trousers were followed by socks and sturdy, sensible shoes. The shirt - Gryffindor red - was mostly hidden beneath the lightweight summer cloak she fastened on over it. But when she cast an eager eye over her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she sighed. Her hair was too long; her disguise as a boy mostly hinged on the fact that somewhat effeminate features weren't all that uncommon on boys of pureblood background, but it was a thin line between 'effeminate' and 'girly'. It might have been the fact that she knew she was a girl, but going out into public with her hair down to her chin was far too risky.

With a lingering glance in the mirror, Harry called out, "Triss!"

The house-elf was there in half a second, already curtsying. "How may Triss help Mistress Harry? Is Mistress Harry hungry? Is Mistress Harry wanting some tea?"

"No, I'm not hungry," Harry said hurriedly, aware that her time was running short. "Will you bring me the kitchen shears?"

Triss's brow wrinkled in confusion but she acquiesced, curtsying once more and saying, "Whatever Mistress Harry needs, Triss shall bring," before vanishing with a slight _pop_. Harry only had to wait for a few moments; Triss reappeared after less than ten seconds, the wooden-handled kitchen shears in hand.

Harry took the offered tool. "Thank you Triss, that will be all." She didn't know if Triss would report Harry's actions to James, but decided it didn't matter. Once she cut her hair, there was nothing her father could do about it short of jinxing her or forcing a potion down her throat. Which he wouldn't. Probably.

As soon as the elf popped back to whatever she had been doing before she called her, Harry turned back to the mirror, shears in hand. "Here goes nothing," she muttered, raising the scissors and making the first of many cuts.

* * *

"What took you so long?" Alex asked impatiently, almost fifteen minutes later.

"I cut my hair," Harry replied. Her brother spun to look at her, nearly dropping his runestone set on the floor.

"Oh." He paused. "Dad's not going to be happy when he finds out."

"Which won't be for several days," Harry snapped.

Unperturbed, Alex nodded his agreement, carefully setting the runestones on his desk. "Let's go, then."

"You have the money?" Alex pulled a small pouch out of his pocket as an answer, a slightly mocking smirk on his face. "Right, right, you've got it covered," Harry muttered.

"Too right I do," he boasted as the two of them made their way down the hall and towards the dining room, the only room they had access to that had a Floo connection.

"I think being a student at Asclepius is making you big-headed," Harry told her brother, who grinned smugly at her. She felt a brief surge of affection for Alex, and smiled sweetly at him. "But it didn't seem to make much of a difference on your height." The grin was wiped from his face.

"You're only an inch taller than me," he glowered.

"Correction: I'm an entire inch taller than you."

He muttered something that sounded like, "Just you wait."

"And," she added, "Your hair's gotten darker." She'd noticed as much at the beginning of summer, but it was even more obvious now. Alex's hair had been light auburn when they were children, and had slowly been darkening until it was now a rich mahogany brown. Harry personally thought that it made the two of them look even more alike, even if her hair wouldn't ever lay as flat as Alex's.

"I know." He sounded glum, and Harry knew immediately what was wrong.

"Mum wouldn't have minded," she said.

He didn't answer, and they walked the rest of the way to the dining room in silence.

One of the three portraits in the dining room was occupied. "Harriet, Alexander," their grandmother greeted them from her frame, one hand languidly stroking the head of her faithful greyhound.

"Hello, Grandmother Dorea," they chorused politely. Dorea Potter née Black was a kind-hearted woman, but was very strict. She, like James, was extremely offended at Harry's short hair, and as expected, her eyes narrowed when they landed on Harry's newly cropped hair.

"What have you done to your hair, foolish girl?" she demanded, standing up. "No respect for tradition, no sense of propriety…!" Still muttering, the woman left her frame without waiting for a response from Harry, her greyhound trotting after her.

Alex snickered, and Harry glared at him. "It's not funny!" she insisted, striding towards the unlit fireplace. Her brother kept up easily.

"Yes, it is. Grandmother Dorea is the only portrait that even realized that you aren't just one of my friends on the entire walk down here. The rest all think you're still in your room!"

"They're portraits," Harry pointed out waspishly. "They haven't got a brain anymore." She was both insulted and pleased that her own ancestors, who had seen her almost every day of her life, couldn't recognize her with such short hair. At least, not yet. They would learn soon enough. She took a pinch of powder from the marble bowl on the mantel and threw it on the cold hearth. Small, green flames rose from the unlit logs, and she stepped in, breathing in at the same time, getting a mouthful of ash by accident. "L-Leaky Caul-auldron!" she coughed out before the Floo kicked and whisked her away.

Fireplaces flashed by, too fast for her to see the contents of the rooms beyond the green of the flames. She closed her eyes, dizzy, until she started to slow down. Harry opened her eyes as she started to tip forward, and stumbled out of a grubby, short fireplace. The smells she associated with beer and cheap food assaulted her nose, but her glasses were, once again, so clouded with filth that she couldn't see out of them.

Cursing quietly under her breath, she pulled her glasses off and polished them on her cloak, wishing she could use magic without getting in trouble for it. When she put her spectacles back on, she took a sudden step back, bumping her head on the mantle of the fireplace. This wasn't the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

A/N: If you think I should add warnings to this story or change the rating, either PM me or review. Anonymous reviews will most likely be disregarded.

Also, this story is complete. I will be releasing chapters on every day that ends with a '5', so approximately every ten days. While I am posting this story, I will be working on year three of this arc, as well as various other stories that may or may not ever see the light of day.

If you find a grammatical or spelling error, please let me know. I don't have a Beta, so all mistakes are my fault, and I will be eternally grateful for aid in smoothing out the kinks.

Comments or suggestions? Just review. Please note that I laugh at flames.


	2. Chapter 2

Thirty intimidating faces stared at her. She swallowed heavily and asked, in as calm a voice as she could muster, even though she already knew the answer, "Is this the Leaky Cauldron?" She cast a glance over her shoulder at the mantle; there was no Floo powder in sight.

After a moment of silence, the entire room burst out laughing, some chortling, others guffawing, and one person - a hag by the look of it - full-out cackling. Harry flushed and crossed her arms over her chest, right hand pressed comfortingly against her wand in the breast pocket of her cloak. It was there, even if she wasn't allowed to use it.

"Wha's it ter you, boyo?" asked a large man at the bar with a scruffy beard, wearing a tight shirt that emphasized his heavy musculature and prominent ropy scars all along his right forearm.

"I - " Harry started in a small voice that was immediately swallowed up the accented voice of a sallow-skinned man with dark hair and flashing cerulean eyes that managed to stand out despite the dim lighting in the room.

"Ees ze leetle boy lost? 'Az 'e come out ze wrong 'earth?" More laughter sounded, along with a few calls for more drink. The sallow-skinned man left his glass of dark red wine and stalked towards her, a malicious smirk on his face. Much of the laughter faded out, and a few grumbles could be heard. "Will you be missed, leetle boy? 'Ow long weel eet take for your mamán et papá to find zat you are gone?"

Harry backed up into the hard stone of the fireplace, the dying flames warm against the back of her legs, and stared at the advancing man, eyes wide, as she remembered one of the few decent classes she'd had with Quirrell, one that focused on the various forms of the undead. Her eyes darted from the paleness of the man's skin to the glass of red liquid. "You're a vampire," she breathed out, her voice higher than she'd intended.

"What a clever leetle boy you are," the vampire purred. Harry didn't know how she'd missed the signs; now that he was so close, _too _close, she could even see the unnaturally sharp points of his elongated canines.

The vampire stretched out a hand and Harry fumbled for her wand - so what if it was prohibited, this was a _vampire_ \- but before either of them could finish their motion, a loud crash sounded in the deathly silent pub. The large man from before was on his feet, his stool fallen on the floor behind him, and a furiously angry expression on his face. "Leave 'im alone, will yeh? The King said no feedin' 'cept down at Elle's place. An' 'e's only a boy, fer Mordred's sake!"

The vampire froze, then dropped his hand. "Very well," he said in a completely unaccented voice. He cast a leering snarl at Harry before raising his voice to a near shout. "I challenge the King!"

A babble of voices broke out as the occupants of the pub began to whisper, and Harry saw gold change hands more than once. She started wondering if she would be able to sidle out the door - anywhere was better than in here with a vampire, and, based on the appearances in the rest of the room, more than one werewolf and at least two hags - but her hopes were crushed when the vampire spoke again, pitching his voice to be heard above the crowd, "With his crown and the boy as the stakes!"

"You can't do that!" Harry burst out, her anger overcoming her common sense, which told her to just shut up and hide.

"No?"

"I - I'm - ," _not a boy_, she finished mentally_._ But she couldn't say that; it would likely just make her all the more desirable. "I'm a _person_, not a thing. You can't bet me!" It was a weak argument.

"And I'm not a person either, according to _your_ Ministry," the vampire sneered back. Harry gaped at him. What was she supposed to say to that? She was only _twelve_. "The Dark Lord had it right," the vampire added with a venomous snarl. Chills ran up Harry's spine. She'd met Voldemort, hardly more than a month ago. "At least he -"

"Is dead," a new voice broke in. Harry spun around. The newcomer stood on the bottom step of the shadowed staircase leading upwards. He didn't look even a fraction as dangerous as the least dangerous man - or woman - in the pub; he couldn't have been more than twenty years old.

"The King," some of the watchers muttered, while others bowed their heads and respectfully said, "Yer Majesty," as he walked by. Harry watched with wide eyes as the man - this _King_ \- approached. His hair was a plain brown, and his nose and cheeks bore freckles from hours spent in the sun. He was wearing plain black robes, with nothing to indicate his elevated status. The King greeted some of the pub's patrons by name, and others only received a nod of acknowledgement. A few of the nastier-looking individuals - including a goblin and a pair hags - had vanished between the King's appearance and his slow walk through the crowd. She wondered why - there was still a group of three goblins and a lone hag - but knew better than to ask.

"Bernard," the King said coolly to the vampire, who bared his teeth at him.

"It's Ash now."

"Why do you continue to stir up trouble? All you're going to do is get yourself executed."

"I'll be King of the Lower Alleys," Ash pointed out in a voice that bordered on a growl. "The Ministry doesn't care what happens down here."

"Even the Ministry takes notice when people turn up drained." The King sounded bored, like he'd already had this discussion before, but Harry noticed that his body was taut with awareness, like a hound restrained with a fox in sight.

"You can't prove it was me." Ash sounded smug. "And people didn't notice Willy missing for three days."

The King was starting to look more dangerous, although Harry was at a loss as to how. "William Brown was a homeless drunk. Clare Zingerwell worked as a dishwasher in Calypso's on the main alley, and Silvertooth's sisters have been looking for a body. Just because they haven't been found doesn't mean that I don't know what happens on my turf. I let Willy slide because you're only a fledgling, and he wasn't exactly Merlin, but Clare? Silvertooth?"

"They turned me down!" Ash nearly shouted, fists clenched.

Harry slowly started to creep towards a table of rather hairy men, but hadn't gotten very far when one of the goblins in the most shadowed corner of the room stood up and rasped out, "Part of your stakes is escaping."

The goblin seated in the very corner of the room, so that only the reflection of candlelight glinting maliciously off its eyes gave proof of it's presence, snarled out, "A challenge was issued; it will be seen through, one way or the other." Harry repressed a very foul word; wizard-goblin relations were strained enough as it was, although she could, for the first time, really understand why for herself instead of merely reading about it or falling asleep to stories of rebellions in History of Magic.

Goblins were avaricious, bloodthirsty, and violent. The wars and uprisings in Britain alone had nearly decimated their populations, and so the few clans that had survived had sullenly agreed to a small parcel of land on which they could build a bank and tend to wizards' monies and heirlooms. The only thing that had stopped the goblins from fighting amongst themselves was their overwhelming hatred for wizardkind for what they saw as imprisonment. Their hate for wizards had bound them more firmly together than any treaty between their clans ever could.

The goblins found outside of Gringotts Territory were deemed either too sympathetic to wizardkind, or too violent. Harry could only hope that these goblins were the former, but she doubted it. And regardless, goblins were fanatics about honor, which was the only reason wizards trusted them enough to bank with them, and made excellent impartial judges for duels between wizards in that they would favor neither one (and often were heard to make disparaging comments if neither contestant died). Goblins also were voracious gamblers, with a knack for coming out on top. Every so often, gruesome stories of people who had tried to cheat a goblin or skip a mortgage payment would show up in the _Daily Prophet_, and judging from the stacks of coins - bronze, silver, and gold - on the goblins' table, these goblins, vicious or sympathetic as they might be, were no different. They had seen the challenge spoken, and would see it honored. They wouldn't care that there was a human child's life at stake; in fact, it probably made them even more excited for the outcome.

Harry glanced between the King and Ash, and felt her hope that she would - somehow - get out of this alive sinking to the pit of her stomach. Ash was a vampire; not only did he have enhanced eyesight and hearing, but he could also move much faster than any human could ever hope to if he had fed recently. Ash was also a full head taller than the King, and bulkier in the shoulders as well.

Some sort of silent agreement was reached between the King and Ash, and the King turned to the goblins at the back of the room. "I would request an impartial judge for this test of strength and right to rule the Lower Alleys of the Wizarding District of London. Is there one who abstained from wagering on the outcome?" The language was far more formal than Harry would have expected for someone in such a seedy establishment. Her only clue as to where she was had been 'Wizarding District of London', which was a fancy way of saying 'Diagon Alley and all adjoining lanes'. The only problem was that there were at least fifteen streets connected to Diagon Alley, all of them accessible only through Knockturn Alley if on foot; Harry had looked for Floo powder first thing when she'd realized she wasn't in the right place - there was none.

A goblin thumped its dark metal mug on the table, making the stack of sickles shiver and sway, only millimeters away from toppling over. "Deepclaw of Clan Ironhand has abstained and agrees to regulate for a fee of five galleons." Harry felt her eyebrows raise of their own accord, but she was apparently the only one who found the price outrageous because the King nodded once in agreement.

"The loser will pay five galleons."

"And will be banished from all of the Lower Alleys forever," Ash tacked on with a victorious smile.

"Agreed," the King said calmly, without hesitation. Harry didn't know whether to feel heartened by his obvious confidence, or alarmed at his cool arrogance.

"Agreed," Ash seconded, sounding immensely pleased.

Deepclaw stood and declared, "Thirteen witnesses, two fighters, and the stakes will be present. Everyone else," his lips pulled into a frightening snarl, revealing pointy grey teeth, "_get_." There was a sudden scramble for the door. Harry's head was spinning from the speed in which her day had turned on its head, but she wouldn't have been able to slip out by mingling with the fleeing patrons - although she really couldn't call it fleeing when they were just congregating outside the door, peering in through the dirty windows - because of the painful grip Deepclaw had on her upper arm. She was at a loss as to how he'd even gotten across the room that quickly.

* * *

In the end, the witnesses were the barkeeper, the other two goblins, and ten of the most dangerous looking men, all of them big, scruffy, and with knives displayed prominently on their personage. From what she could see, none of them had a wand, and if they did, it was very well hidden.

She had just started to wonder how Ash was going to fight - vampires, even if they'd been born a wizard, couldn't use magic - when the King shrugged out of his robes, revealing oddly shiny black pants and a loose cotton shirt, and then pulled out a wand, only to set it on top of his discarded robes. He flicked a dagger into each hand with a single twist of his wrists. This was going to be an old fashioned duel: the only magic allowed was wandless, and the main weapons were blades.

Harry was seriously considering taking out her own wand and firing off a spell just to alert _someone_ to where she was, consequences and possible punishments be damned. Deepclaw quickly abused her of the notion by shoving her at the crowd of witnesses. "Make sure it doesn't run off," he grunted.

Harry took one long look at the surly men and sneering goblins before sitting herself down on the nearest barstool. A couple of the men gave rough chuckles, but none of them looked in the least concerned, or even spared her a glance once it became clear that she was going to sit the fight out like the rest of them, even if she did have more on the line than a few galleons.

The barkeep cleared the floor of tables and chairs with a single sweep of his wand, even if he didn't look particularly pleased about hosting the fight. As the two contestants stood back to back in the center of a quickly spelled chalk circle - once again by the barkeep - Harry's adrenaline reached levels that allowed her to survey the scene with an oddly clear head; she'd never seen an old-fashioned duel like this before. Well, she'd never seen _any_ duel before, just read about them and had Alex spout off about them to her. _Alex_, she thought as the King and Ash started counting off steps. _I hope he came out in the right grate_.

"…five!" Both of the fighters spun to face each other. Ash had his fangs bared in a gruesome snarl, and the King's blades were poised lightly, almost casually. The next few minutes were a blur of motion; the vampire moved preternaturally fast, so that he seemed to be Apparating from place to place, but somehow, impossibly, the King's knives were always there to block, to swipe, to distract. A few times the King had to leap back to avoid Ash's black, sharply pointed nails - _had they been like that before? _\- and once a lock of Ash's dark brown hair fluttered to the floor, neatly severed.

Harry found herself leaning forward on the edge of her seat, holding her breath, waiting for the outcome. The men and goblins were silent as they watched, although she could hear the faint shouting of excitement from those who had their faces pressed up against the window from the outside, trying to see in through the distorted glass.

The duel ended when Ash finally got through the King's defenses, tackling him to the ground and sending one of the knives skittering loudly across the floor. The noises outside reached a fever pitch, but inside the only sound to be heard was the panting breaths of the King and the less strained breathing of the vampire.

"I win," Ash proclaimed, looking up straight at Harry with a greedy, blood chilling smile. It was his last mistake. Harry watched with an odd sort of detachment as the King took advantage of the vampire's distraction and, in a single swift movement, like a striking adder, freed his right hand and plunged his remaining blade into Ash's side.

Ash made a strangled gasping sound, looking down at his chest in surprise, his smile fading. Harry knew she should do something - _look away scream for help don't watch_ \- but couldn't even blink, let alone open her mouth; she was petrified, better than if Malfoy had cast a full body-bind on her. Ash reached for the knife, but before his hands, moving at the speed of a normal human, could get close, the King said, in an almost mournful voice, "_Lumos solem_."

The vampire _screamed_. About half of the men clapped their hands over their ears while the other half grimaced and looked away; the goblins didn't so much as flinch, watching the scene with glittering black eyes. Harry's ears rang with the noise but she still couldn't move; instead, she watched as Ash's skin began to glow like he had fireflies living between skin and muscle, until his hands and ears and eyes were lit up brighter than the sun and she had to look away. Once again, far too soon, she smelled the unforgettable odor of burning hair and blistering flesh. It wasn't Ash's face any more, but Quirrell's, screaming in pain as she burned him alive, like a medieval witch on a pyre built by muggles, but from the inside out instead.

She could move, and she leapt to her feet. "_Stop it!_" she shrieked, somehow making herself heard over the continued keening howls of the vampire.

Maybe it was her words, or maybe the King had just gotten fed up of Ash's vociferate demise, but in the next moment the room was echoing in the absence of noise, and there was a red smile stretching gruesomely across the vampire's blistered neck.

As Deepclaw declared the King to be the winner in an almost gleeful tone of voice, and some of the men grumbled about losing their bets, Harry turned and vomited onto the floor, uncaring of who might see or what she might be ruining. It would be a damn sight easier to get the bile off the floor than it would to get blood stains off.

Feeling like she was in some sort of bad dream, and hoping she might yet wake up in her own bed, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the bar. "Not real," she murmured to herself as the clinking of coin being distributed and the chattering and footsteps of those who had been sent outside returning to cash in on their bets. She closed her eyes but the image of Ash's tortured face seemed to be superimposed on the backs of her eyelids.

Harry pressed her head harder against the bar. "It's not real," she repeated futilely. Then a large warm hand clamped down on her shoulder, making her flinch and try to pull away. The hand didn't yield, and she was pulled towards the middle of the room. A few of the patrons had already returned to their business - drinking, conversing in low tones, a game of dice near the window - but all of the witnesses were watching as the man who'd spoken in her defense earlier, and inadvertently set off the entire chain of events, steered her to where the King was counting out ten galleons for Deepclaw.

"Rest o'yer stakes, yer Majesty." Harry was shoved lightly forward. The King gave her a quick once over as he pulled his robes back on, adjusting them until they sat _just so_, in a way that somehow both concealed and flaunted his clothes underneath.

"Thank you, Ralph. Call Nymphie, will you, and have her deal with the body."

With a gruff, "Yer Majesty," Ralph turned and shouldered his way through the morass of people crowding for their winnings and out the door, leaving Harry with the King.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked her.

She hesitated for a long moment, but eventually said, softly, "Harry."

"Surname?" This time her pause stretched out even longer than before. The King shot her a crooked grin. "Smarter than you look, then." She bristled, but one glance at the decapitated body still in the middle of the dueling ring worked well to remind her to hold her tongue. "Where're you headed to then?" he asked. "So that I can get you out of here. None of the lower alleys are safe for someone like you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, half insulted and half curious.

He gestured to her dark grey robes and neat clothes underneath, down to her shoes, the polished leather ankle-boots in the style that wizards had worn for more than three hundred years. "Rich. Young. Attractive."

Harry flushed and didn't meet his eyes. She wasn't naïve enough to think that 'attractive' could only be applied to the few women in the room. "Fortesque's in Diagon Alley," she muttered at last, just loud enough to be heard over the elevating sounds of chatter in the bar.

The King made a non-committal sound. "Any Floo powder on you?"

Harry gave him a scathing glance. "Do you think I'm stupid or something? If I'd had Floo powder I would've gotten out of here already."

The King chuckled, and Harry realized with a jolt that he was much younger than she'd originally thought; up close, he didn't look any older than some of the seventh years at Hogwarts. "I was wondering if you were just a swotty noble," he explained, moving effortlessly through the crowd, creating a void that Harry followed in. He frowned lightly back at her when she failed to respond, and a single eyebrow rose. "So you are, then?" he asked as they stepped out onto a narrow, cobbled alley with tall buildings seeming to lean over them on either side.

"Does it matter?" Her tone was wary.

He snorted and shook his head. "This way, boy." He started off down the street, nodding to a few people, but mostly ignoring the other pedestrians. Harry was glad that he didn't set a very fast pace; he was at least a foot and a half taller than her, and could have, if he wanted, forced her to jog to keep up.

It was only after the third person had bowed to him that she plucked up the courage to ask, "What's it mean, King of the Lower Alleys?" She had a faint idea, but nothing concrete.

The King slowed his pace even more, so that Harry could walk at his side instead of a half-step behind. "The Lower Alleys are all the alleys in the Wizarding District of London that aren't Diagon Alley - everything from Knockturn Alley to the Night Market at the other end. All the alleys that the Ministry don't care to patrol. If it weren't for the King, there wouldn't be any order, any law or justice for those that call one of the Lower Alleys their home."

Harry goggled at him. "But - you're hardly even out of school!"

He chuckled. "The King has to be able to keep order in the Alleys; has to be the strongest, the fastest, the meanest." He fixed her with an unreadable sideways glance, and Harry couldn't help but look away. She could understand why this man was King; she'd seen firsthand that he was the strongest, fastest, and meanest, regardless of how young he was. "Not all of my subjects are human. You met Ash; he wasn't the only vampire to call the Lower Alleys home. And most of those men? Ralph is the Alpha of the largest werewolf pack in London." Harry's eyes widened momentarily; even after living with a werewolf for the first years of her life, she hadn't been able to recognize the men in the bar for what they were. They just looked like particularly rough thugs.

The King didn't see or didn't care about her reaction. "Their main haunt is the Spitting Chimera - the bar you Flooed into. It also happens to be the home of the Court of the Rogue."

"And _you're_ the Rogue?"

"The Rogue King. It's from back when there was a Wizarding King; the title's older than the Ministry."

They had entered a street full of darkened windows, with signs unreadable from peeling paint. Silence took over for a few minutes as they walked, until Harry asked, quietly, "What do I owe you?" She was no fool; if Ash had won the fight, she'd either be dead or enthralled by now. If the King so chose, he could call in a life debt. At this point, there probably already was one in place, inactive unless she was presented with an opportunity to save him.

For a long moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he said, slowly, "Nothing, for now. But when I ask it, you will come."

"But I'm a student! It's impossible to get out of Hogwarts!" The King gave a humorless laugh that echoed off the tall buildings that lined the street.

"You'll find a way, I'm sure."

"And it's dangerous down here, too," Harry added.

He stopped walking and stared down at her. "Are you going to tell me where you live, then, so I can come to you?"

"Er - no. I'll come."

He nodded. "But you're right; it's not safe for a lad like you to go prancing around the Lower Alleys unprotected." With a quick jerk, he tugged a small ring that Harry hadn't noticed before off of his smallest finger and held it out.

She took it from him and inspected it. It was dark brass, with two Celtic knots on either side of a rough black stone that had a certain iridescence about it. She frowned at the rock before realizing what it was, and her eyes widened. "That's dragon opal," she said in surprise, trying to push the ring back into his hand. He refused.

"It's nearly too small for me anyways. Just show it to anyone down here and they'll back right off." He scowled. "Or they should. It seems that not everyone is as respectful of me as I thought. Come on, let's get you out of here. And put that on," he ordered.

Harry had to wear the ring on her middle finger; it was too large for any other finger, but too clunky to wear on her thumb. The King set a fast pace; even so it took a good five minutes until Harry recognized where they were. "That's Ollivander's!" she exclaimed. More relieved than she had anticipated being to orient herself, she turned to the King. "I know where I am now; I can find my own way."

He shook his head. "I'll take you all the way."

"But won't someone recognize you?" she asked as they merged in with the much busier thoroughfare of Diagon Alley.

The King laughed. "These people? Less than a quarter of them will ever venture down Knockturn Alley, let alone to the streets lower than that." He sobered. "No, they won't recognize me. The existence of the Rogue King isn't widely known." He didn't have to tell her that she shouldn't tell anyone either, lest she wanted to suffer the consequences.

The King didn't speak to her again as he easily strolled along they sunny and crowded Diagon Alley as if he belong there, although he smiled and nodded at various peddlers with their carts set up where they could find space, and paused once to help a pair of elderly witches gather up their spilled bags. Finally, though, Harry could see the purple and yellow lettering of Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlor.

And there, looking very worried, was Alex, speaking with exaggerated motions to a sandy-haired man that Harry knew without a doubt was Remus Lupin, her brother's godfather and their adopted uncle.

"There," she said, breaking the silence between herself and the King. He seemed to know immediately who she was talking about and nodded.

"Just go along with what I say," he ordered, and then added slyly, "It'll be better for the both of us if you do." Harry was so eager to get to her brother that she barely took the time to nod before she was off, dodging and weaving between the slowly strolling shoppers.

"Alex!" she called out once she was near enough to know she would be heard.

Remus looked up first, and his eyes widened when he caught sight of her and realized who it was. He mouth dropped open in shock, leaving him gaping stupidly, but also alerting Alex to her presence. A relieved grin spread over his face and he ran to meet her.

"Where'd you come out?" he asked immediately, squeezing her arms to her sides in a hug.

Harry opened her mouth to answer but someone else spoke first. "Herberts and Rose Herbal Remedies." The King had caught up. He'd done something to make him look younger than ever, so that he could have passed for fifteen if he'd claimed to be.

"And you are…?" Remus asked at the same time as Alex queried, "Where's that?"

"Liam Cooper," the King said, and Harry wondered if that was really his name. "My mother owns the shop - it's on Market Alley." Remus's lips thinned and he cast a hard look at Harry, who smiled winsomely up at him. A corner of his mouth twitched, and his amber eyes softened a tiny amount.

"Thank you, Mr. Cooper," Remus said with a meaningful glance at Harry.

She disentangled herself from Alex and turned back to the King. "Thank you, _Liam_," she said politely. If he was bothered by the slight dig at his name, he didn't show it.

Instead, he gave her a crooked smile, said lightly, "See you around, Harry," and left, whistling.

Remus and Alex turned to her. "Are you okay? What was it like down there?" Alex asked eagerly, as Remus eyed her hair and, slowly, as if dreading the answer, asked, "Why did you cut your hair?" Harry sighed. It was going to be a long explanation.

* * *

Five minutes later, the three of them had sat down on one of the many shaded tables outside of the broad windows of the ice cream parlor. Even though she had no appetite - seeing a man, vampire or not, having his throat slit open would ruin anyone's appetite - she had ordered a vanilla ice cream (usually she would order vanilla and raspberry, but no shade of red would look good today) as a way to try to assure her brother and Remus that she was fine. It seemed to be working, on the both of them.

Remus met her eyes over his bowl of chocolate ice cream, while Alex attacked his peanut-butter and strawberry cone. "Harriet."

It was a question and a command at once, and she sighed before saying, baldly, "I'm not going to Asclepius Academy. Alex is."

Remus' brow wrinkled and he brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Harry fiddled with her ice cream, pushing it around with her spoon, while Remus tried to figure out just what she'd said.

"You're switching?"

"We already did." Before Remus could ask anything else, she added, sotto voce, "I'm the Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team." His expression might have been comical if the situation wasn't so serious.

"You're _what?_" he hissed back at last.

Alex let out a snort, and spoke for the first time since getting his (now half-eaten) ice cream. "You heard my _brother_. Harry here is the youngest Seeker Hogwarts has had for more than a hundred years!" Remus' mouth opened and closed a few times before Alex rolled his eyes and reached for their honorary uncle's ice cream bowl.

Remus jerked the bowl away from Alex's impending hand on reflex, and this time even Harry had to snicker. As children, they had discovered his nearly involuntary reaction towards anything chocolate and had quite a lot of fun trying to steal bits of Remus' desserts. The werewolf would jealously guard anything with chocolate in it; it seemed that he hadn't changed much in the interim years.

"Not funny," Remus groused, before sobering up. "Harry, this is madness. I don't know how or when you learned to fly - and I don't want to know," he added fiercely, "but nothing good will come of it. When people find out, you'll be shunned, looked down on, betrayed by those you call friends." He seemed pained, and Harry knew that he was speaking from experience: being a werewolf wasn't easy.

"Three of my friends already know, and they don't care," Harry said quietly, looking down at her rapidly melting treat. She heard Remus suck in a breath.

"Girls?" he asked, almost pleadingly. She shook her head. "It's not safe, Harry. Boys - teenage boys - they're - " He stopped, took a deep breath and plowed on, "They don't have a girl's best interest at heart, especially one like you."

Harry had been prepared to say that she was being perfectly safe, but his comment caught her off guard. "What do you mean, a girl like me? And they'd never do anything untoward, anyways." She knew they wouldn't. Fred and George were more interested in pranks than girls - she'd never once heard them talk about girls - and Cedric was a brother to her.

Remus squirmed a little. Like Harry, he'd forgotten about his ice cream. Alex seemed content to watch, even when Harry glared at him for not helping her out. The whole thing had been his idea in the first place. "You're a Scion of an Ancient House, Harry, and even the pureblood supremacists would overlook your mother's bloodline for a chance at the Potter Inheritance. And you - you'll start puberty soon, Harry," Remus said, a blush creeping up the back of his neck to his ears. "You won't be able to disguise yourself, especially if you've inherited more from your mother than just your eyes."

"I _will _so," she said fiercely. "I'll figure something out. I've got Alex to help, and the twins are as good as the Marauder's ever were." She debated whether or not to tell him that they had the Map, but decided not to. It wasn't relevant to the conversation.

Remus seemed to be fishing for a good argument. "Your father - "

"Doesn't know, and you can't tell him."

"Marriage - "

"I don't care." Alex snickered into the vestiges of his cone. Harry tried to kick him under the table but missed and ended up nearly upsetting the table.

"Tradition - "

"Is _stupid_."

This time it was Remus who heaved a sigh. He pushed his bowl of ice cream away, untouched and mostly melted. He gazed at her for a long time, an unreadable expression on his face. "Are you happy?" he asked at last.

An irrepressible smile crept over her face, and when she glanced at Alex, she saw that he did too. Her grin deepened; one of the few features they truly shared was their smile. "Very," they answered together.

Remus shook his head and leaned back in his chair, muttering something that, to Harry, who suddenly felt good enough to take a tentative taste of her ice cream, sounded suspiciously like, "You reap what you sow."


	3. Chapter 3

It took Remus a good minute and a half to come back to earth from his mental retreat following his acceptance - reluctant thought it appeared - of the twins' situation. "I suppose I can't say I'm surprised," he admitted, casting a rueful glance at his soupy ice cream. "Your parents both had their rebellious moments; it only makes sense that you'd have your own." He sighed and met Harry's eyes with a serious expression. "Be careful." And that was the last any of them spoke of it for the rest of the day.

The three of them wandered around Diagon Alley for nearly two hours, exploring those shops that they hadn't been able to go in the year before with their father. Harry took special delight in being able to linger in Quality Quidditch Supplies for as long as she wanted, without once attracting curious or disapproving glances from the proprietor or other customers. She even saw a few people she knew from Hogwarts - Seamus Finnigan was loitering outside of a second-hand shop with a young boy on each hand and a scowl on his face, and Draco Malfoy strutted after his father, whom Harry was very glad to have avoided. Her gut clenched when she saw them turn unashamedly down Knockturn Alley.

Remus soon drove the Malfoys out of her head. "You two should be getting home," he said softly as they came out of Flourish and Blotts, an owl-order form safely tucked into Harry's cloak pocket. They turned towards the Leaky Cauldron, moving through the dwindling crowd.

"But - !" Alex began, but Remus shook his head.

"It's not safe out here once it starts to get dark. Even in Diagon Alley." His face took on a pinched expression. "Just because Vol - You-Know-Who," he hurriedly amended, glancing around nervously to check if anyone had overheard his near slip, "is thought to be dead doesn't mean that his supporters wouldn't love to get their hands on James Potter's…_sons_." Remus's voice on the last word was tinged with resigned acceptance and something that resembled poorly-concealed amusement.

"But _why_?" Alex whined. "It's not like Dad does anything anymore."

"James sent nearly a dozen Death Eaters to Azkaban during his two years as an Auror," Remus said stiffly, before lowering his voice and adding, so quietly that Harry barely even heard him, "And passed along information that led to the capture of at least twice that many since you were born."

Alex flushed and nodded tersely. "Fine," he mumbled, not looking Remus in the eye.

Harry nodded once and touched her twin lightly on the arm. She too wanted to spend more time with Remus. "Thanks for everything," she told him. "And for agreeing not to tell."

A small smile crossed Remus' face, erasing some of the premature lines brought on by his curse. "I don't see James in you very often, Harry," he said, "But now more than ever it's clear that you're his d - son." He grimaced and pulled the two of them to the side, between two stacks of extra large cauldrons. "You both need to be careful with this, especially you, Harry." Harry nodded; she'd known when she agreed to Alex's plan that she would have to be extremely cautious with everything she did, from what she said to the way she walked.

Remus relaxed a little. "Before you Floo out of here," he said, pulling two small boxes out of his robes pocket, "Here's your gifts." He hesitated before handing Harry the one in wrapped in red and Alex the one in purple. "They were supposed to be the other way around…" he trailed off, but Harry and Alex just grinned, tucking their newest gifts away.

"Thanks, Remus," Harry said, hugging the man about the waist. Alex also added his gratitude, but didn't make a move to join the hug.

"Ready to Floo?" he asked instead. Harry let Remus go and nodded to her brother.

"You'll write?" she asked Remus, doing her best to disguise the plaintive note in her voice.

"Of course," he assured her. "Although I might have to wait until September. My employer wants me to go to Greece and Macedonia."

"Oh." She paused before saying, "Well, have a nice trip." She then allowed Alex to pull her away from Remus and towards the back entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. When she glanced back, he'd already vanished.

* * *

The next day passed in relative peace. Their father had yet to return from his yearly attempt to drown his memories in work, so Harry and Alex had the run of the house, although they ended up spending most of their time outdoors. Remus's gifts had turned out to be odd little stone carvings from Central America. Alex had been ecstatic when he'd opened his - a _real_ Aztec relic! - but it had been Harry who first worked out how the carved animals functioned. Her statue - an eagle - allowed her to 'see' through the eyes of one of the large birds of prey.

It had been frightening for the first few moments, and remained disorientating for a good few minutes afterwards, but once she became accustomed to the incoming sensory details from both the eagle's point of view and her own body, it was exhilarating, almost as good as flying on her broom. She gained a large appreciation for how well and how instinctually a bird could navigate through the air, and some of the maneuvers the bird did while she shared its body had inspired her to even greater lengths on her broom.

Alex's totem was of a jaguar. The one time they had switched animals, Harry had spent five minutes lounging in the trees, watching the birds and monkeys chatter in the treetops, before getting bored. Alex hadn't even lasted that long - his face was far paler than normal when she opened her own eyes to the small clearing outside where they'd been spending their time.

"Do you think it's an actual animal?" Harry asked during a break from the stones. The only instructions that had come with the totems was a warning: Do not use for extended periods of time. Neither of them wanted to risk the unknown side effects of the carvings.

"It could be," Alex said slowly, turning his head so that he could see her better. "But I don't think so; if the animal died while you were sharing its senses, who knows what could happen." They both shuddered.

"So what is it then?" she wondered out loud.

Alex shrugged. "Let's go see if we have a book about it," he suggested, standing up and brushing grass from the back of his trousers.

"I doubt we do," Harry warned, seeing the excited glint in his eyes at the prospect of finding out new things about a place he hoped to one day visit. "There hasn't ever been an archeologist or curse-breaker in our family."

"We're going to Diagon Alley again tomorrow," Alex pointed out, his eagerness undiminished. "We can always _buy_ one."

"With what money?" Harry asked, following her brother into the house.

"We have our own vaults, you know," he shot back over his shoulder.

"But we don't have the keys to them!" She had to run to keep up with him. They ignored the disapproving sniffs of various ancestors as they tore through the corridors towards the library.

"Yes we do!"

"Well I - Dad gave you your key?" Alex finally stopped running. She caught up to him in a few seconds.

"He didn't give you yours?"

She scowled. "No."

"He gave me mine at the beginning of summer."

"And you're just _now_ mentioning this!?"

"I thought you already knew, and didn't think it worth mentioning!"

Harry huffed and crossed her arms. "It's not fair."

For once, Alex allowed a cynical and bitter expression to cross his face. "Since when is Dad _fair_." Then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter, anyways. I'll just buy you what you need."

Harry scowled. It wasn't the same. "Fine." She relented enough to ask, as they began to walk at a more sedate pace towards the library, "Have you got your booklist yet for this year?"

Alex shook his head. "I don't need anything new. All of my uniforms still fit, and our books are the same until next year."

"Lucky you," Harry said as they entered the library and turned towards the ancient history section. "Some ponce wants us to get about six books by the same author - Gilderoy Lockhart, it think it is."

Alex shrugged. "Never heard of him."

"Me neither." She made a face that Alex didn't see since he was already browsing the shelves. "The titles don't look that good though - and don't you even -!" she began, spinning to glare at her brother.

But, with a smug grin on his face, Alex had already started to speak. "Now, don't judge a book by its cover, Harry. You never know what's inside." He snickered at the sour expression on Harry's face; she herself had told Alex that exact phrase more times than she could count over the years, especially when he would make disparaging remarks about how boring a book she had chosen to read looked.

"You're a prat," she muttered, but she had a small, content smile on her face as she turned back to her shelf, searching for anything to do with Aztec relics.

* * *

Harry woke Alex up at eight the next morning, all but pulling him from his bed.

"It's too early," he grumbled, finally giving up on pretending to be asleep after an uncomfortable tumble to the carpeted floor.

"No, it's not. And I thought you wanted to meet Fred and George, anyways, but if you'd rather languish in bed then I'm sure - "

"No! I'm coming!" Harry snickered a little as Alex fled to the bathroom, his hair, for once, nearly as messy as her own.

It took nearly half an hour for Alex to be ready, and another half hour for Leena to be satisfied that they'd eaten a decent breakfast, which, as usual, had been delivered to Harry's room on trays. The house-elf had clucked her tongue and wrung her hands when she saw Harry's new hair cut - usually Triss interacted most with Harry and Alex - but hadn't actually said anything. Leena's expression, though, told Harry that James would be learning about her shorter hair sooner rather than later.

By nine fifteen, Harry was raring to leave for Diagon Alley; the twins' letter had said that they usually started their shopping right after breakfast. Since she didn't know what time 'breakfast' was, she wanted to get there as soon as possible. If worst came to worst, she could get all of her own shopping done well before the Alley truly became crowded.

"Got your wand?" Harry asked as they skidded to a halt in front of the dining room fireplace. Grandmother Dorea was pleasantly absent, and only Lily was in her frame. Harry was surprised when her mother's usually expressionless portrait gave her what was very clearly a smirk before sliding sideways off the canvas.

" -rse I do, what do you take me for, a six year old?" Alex asked scornfully, patting the pocket of his cloak.

Harry recovered from her mother's unexpected display of emotion - until her father joined her in their conjoined portrait, Lily shouldn't have been able to do much more than raise an alarm if an intruder entered the house - in time to respond with a neat, "I often do, actually." Alex pouted at her, but she ignored him and reached for the Floo powder.

"Do you want to go together?" Alex asked quickly, before she could throw the powder onto the unlit logs.

Harry's gaze darted down to the ring on the middle finger of her left hand. She'd passed it off as a birthday gift when Alex had asked yesterday afternoon, but it served as a constant reminder of what had happened on their birthday. She hesitated before saying firmly, in hopes of convincing herself too, "No. I need to be able to Floo by myself." She left unsaid that she needed to be able to get to the King when he called.

"Are you sure? What if you end up someplace worse than wherever you ended up yesterday? And what if - ?"

Harry rolled her eyes and threw the powder down, stepping into the cavity too fast for her brother to say anything except, "Wait!"

"Leaky Cauldron!" she snapped authoritatively, using up most of her air supply. It was better than coughing the middle of her destination and ending up in Dublin or the Hebrides.

She closed her eyes against the dizzying green flames and brief flashes of businesses and homes attached to the Network. Only when she felt herself slowing down did she open her eyes, starting to step forward even before the fire spat her out. She didn't miss a step as she moved aside - Alex would doubtlessly be following soon - and cleaned her glasses on her cloak.

By the time she had them perched back on her nose, her brother was stumbling from the fireplace, scowling. "Don't do that," he snapped crossly, glaring at her.

"I'll never get better if I don't practice," she retorted. Ignoring the curious glances of a few of the early-morning patrons, and the solicitous nod of Tom, the barkeep and owner, she marched to the bricked-in storage alley. Alex beat her to the wall, though, so she allowed him to use his wand to tap the brick that opened the archway to the main alley.

It was far busier than she'd expected.

"What's going on?" she asked, automatically moving closer to Alex.

He shrugged. "Maybe it's just a good day for shopping."

"No - look!" She dragged Alex towards Flourish and Blotts, where a gaggle of excited witches was gathered about a large poster in the window, advertising a handsome man with an almost unnaturally white smile.

"_That_'s Gilderoy Lockhart?" Alex asked in a choked voice. "He looks like a _girl_."

"Don't speak so loudly!" Harry hissed, pinching his hand.

"Ouch! Why not?" he asked, shaking his hand with a baleful glare at Harry.

"Because someone could overhear." And judging by the irritated glances of several of the women congregated by the door, someone had. She dragged Alex away from the poster and towards the towering white marble of Gringotts bank, ignoring Alex's sulky mutterings with an ease that came from long practice. As they neared the bank, though, she began to slow down. She _really_ didn't like goblins, especially after meeting Deepclaw and his cohorts.

Alex, though, was eager to take the lead, and ended up pulling her past a pair of surly-looking goblins decked out in shining gold-plated armor through no less than three pairs of doors: first marble, then silver, and then gold.

Harry had never been inside Gringotts before, and was both amazed and disgusted, for although the ceiling soared far above their heads, with intricate and impossibly detailed carvings in every spare inch of white stone, the glittering chandeliers were festooned with cobwebs and dust, both of which were regrettably visible due to the sun streaming in from the many-tiered windows thirty feet above them.

"This way," Alex whispered, dragging her down the narrow hall. Harry determinedly kept her eyes glued to the (white marble) floor. Her brother had no such compunctions and kept up a steady stream of 'Wow - did you see those rubies?!' or 'I'll be here all the time when I'm a curse-breaker'.

The goblin who finally saw them - Axnose - spoke only to Alex, in short and unfriendly sentences. "Your key, Mr. Potter." Alex passed up the key, which was quite tiny and made of white gold. Axnose inspected it for nearly a minute before grunting out, in a disappointed voice, "Very well. Griphook! Show Mr. Potter and his…_companion_ to Vault 687." Harry didn't know what to make of Axnose's sneering label, but decided to ignore it.

The only part of Gringotts that Harry liked was the ride down to her brother's vault. They were packed into a small cart that hung between two rails, and with barely any warning ("Keep limbs in the cart at all times") they were off at a speed that could rival her Nimbus. The only damper on the ride was Alex's face, which, by the time they jerked to a halt, hundreds of feet below ground, was a nasty shade of delicate green.

The goblin, Griphook, didn't comment on Alex's obvious discomfort, but Harry swore she saw it smirk as it took the proffered key and unlocked the enormous iron door. Harry had to help Alex up from the cart before he could wobble into the vault, where he picked up a conveniently placed leather pouch from a hook near the door and started shoveling it full of coins.

"That's plenty!" Harry said when he made no indication of stopping. Although there was a fair amount of money in the vault, if he used it at the rate he was withdrawing it, the vault would be empty before he graduated.

Alex paused, a fist of sickles halfway to the pouch, and looked down. "Er. Oops." He still looked like he was going to be sick. "I'll just…" he emptied a good amount from the pouch back onto the modest pile of coins in the vault. That done, he tucked the pouch into his cloak pocket and exited the vault, accepting the key back from Griphook before getting back into the cart with a sour look on his face.

"It's not that bad," Harry said, eager to start moving again. Alex just shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, as the cart quickly sped up, back towards the surface.

Once back in Diagon Alley, Harry and Alex turned back towards the Leaky Cauldron, where the Weasley's would almost certainly be coming through the Floo. To Harry's delight, though, they didn't even have to go all the way there. A few stores down from Flourish and Blotts, she heard someone calling her name.

Thanks to their distinctive red hair, she didn't have to search the large line winding its way out of the door of the bookstore for more than a few seconds before she found not only the twins, but the most of three other Weasleys as well.

"Come on!" Harry ran ahead of Alex in her eagerness to get to her friends. She managed to restrain from flinging herself at the twins - boys didn't do hugs - but they had no such compunctions. One of them - Harry was almost positive it was George, although both of them had new freckles so it was hard to tell for certain - actually picked her up and gave a thoughtful 'hmm'.

"Still titchy little thing, aren't you, Potter?"

"Fred! George!" The twins' mother looked flustered, one hand patting at her greying hair, the other clasped firmly around the hand of a young girl Harry recalled from Platform 9 3/4 from the year before, Ginny. Mrs. Weasley glared at the twins before turning to Harry, who nearly flinched back before seeing the kind, welcoming smile that spread over the stocky woman's face. "You must be Harry," she said. "I've heard lots about you from Fred and George, and a bit from your father as well. And this must be your…" she trailed off for a moment, her eyes darting between Harry and Alex in slight confusion, before finishing, "brother?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry had nearly forgotten about Alex and, flushing slightly, introduced him to the family. "This is my brother, Alex. Alex, this is Fred, George, Ron, er, Ginny?" The girl blushed and nodded shyly.

Ron beat the twins by blurting out, "So you're who Harry was writing all last year?"

Alex laughed, sending Harry a sideways glance at the same time. "Yeah, my friends had the same expression too, when they figured out I was only writing one person."

"You mean you don't go to Hogwarts?" It seemed that Ginny's curiosity had overcome her shyness.

"Nope - I'm going to Asclepius Acadamy," Alex explained proudly. "I'm studying to become a curse-breaker!"

"My oldest brother's a curse-breaker," Ron broke in. Harry took a few steps back to join the twins when it became clear that Ron and Alex got on like two kneazles in a sack of feathers, with Ginny listening intently to their conversation.

"So, how's your summer been?" Harry asked them.

The one she was now positive was Fred shrugged. "Same old, same old."

"Percy's being a ponce - "

"Shuts himself in his room all day - "

"Ron's annoying and Ginny's nervous - "

"Just got her letter this morning - "

"But we manage to keep ourselves entertained." They smirked at her, and she grinned back.

"Anything worthwhile?" she asked.

They shrugged at the same time. "A few potentials, but we need to get Lee to take a look at a few of them. He's always been good with tying Charms together." George frowned for a moment before shaking his head. "It'll have to wait, though. His dad took him and his sisters on a trip."

"What about you?" Fred asked. "Do anything good?"

Harry shook her head. "My dad was really mad about the haircut," she said, shuffling forward as the line moved along a few feet. "Actually, he still thinks I'm in my room."

The twins grinned appreciatively, before Fred asked, a disappointed pout on his face, "So you've been a perfect little g - boy this whole summer?"

Harry smirked. "I didn't say that. Just two days ago…" She told them the whole story of what had happened in the Lower Alleys, although she left out the presence of the King, making him seem like a helpful stranger. By the time she finished, they were nearly inside the store, and the twins both wore looks of awe on their faces.

"So, let's just get this straight," George started with breathless intensity.

"You've been down Knockturn Alley?" Fred finished.

"We've been trying to get down there for years, but Mum always catches us."

"Got eyes in the back of her head, she does."

"I'd expect it's impossible not to, having raised the two of you," Harry pointed out, but she had a pleased, slightly smug expression on her face. She'd done something they hadn't.

When they finally got to step inside Flourish and Blotts, there was a clerk just inside the door. "Book signings to the left, everything else to the right. C'mon now, don't dawdle, you're blocking up the door!"

"Why don't you six go get your books," Mrs. Weasley suggested, already herding Ron, Ginny, and Alex out of the line threading its way between shelves to a very blonde man signing books at a table set on a platform so he could be seen above the crowd. Harry didn't need telling twice, and dragged Fred and George into the Charms section, the other three following close behind. Alex and Ron were still discussing chess, and seemed to be debating a famous match.

Harry ignored them, picking up a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Two_. "Are the rest of you going to get your books too?" she asked when she noticed that none of the rest of them were browsing.

"We picked up our books at the second-hand shop," George said candidly. Ron must have been paying attention to their conversation in addition to his own, because he flushed an unbecoming red.

"Just shout it out to the whole store," he grumbled, not meeting Alex's eyes.

"What - is it a crime now, being poor?" Fred asked.

"Doesn't bother us," George added.

"What about the Lockhart books?" Harry asked, slowly realizing that she would have to venture into the crowd of witches to get the rest of her school books. The high shelf that should have held auto-biographical works was conspicuously empty.

"Mum's getting them now."

Harry sighed. "I might have to join her. Here," she added, tossing Alex her new textbook. "Hold that for me while you find what we were looking for." As she turned to squirm her way back to Mrs. Weasley, she heard Ron ask, cautiously, "What are you looking for, anyways?"

She had only taken a few steps when Ginny appeared at her side. "I - can I come with you?" Ginny asked hesitantly.

Harry shrugged, and then shot the younger girl a quick grin, and mentally winced when the red-head blushed. "Don't want to hang out with your brothers any more than necessary?" Ginny gave an aborted nod, and then they were, thankfully, too busy focusing on getting through the crowds without stepping on hems or toes to feel like they needed to make small talk.

"Oh, hello, Ginny, dear, and Harry," Mrs. Weasley greeted them breathlessly, eyes on the blonde man signing a stack of books for a rather old witch. "Do you need anything?"

"No, Mrs. Weasley. I've just got to get my school books."

"And Ron's being annoying again." Ginny seemed to have gotten over her shyness.

"Don't be silly, dear. I'm sure your brothers are behaving themselves." Mrs. Weasley seemed very distracted as they moved even closer, and Harry had to smother a grin when, from the corner of her eyes, she saw Fred and George leaning carelessly against a bookshelf, absorbed in a silent conversation. They were clearly up to no good. She caught Ginny's eye, and nodded in the twins' direction. Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Harry decided that she and Ginny would get on quite well at Hogwarts. "So," Harry said to Ginny. "What House do you think you'll be in?"

During the ten minute wait - the line moved faster than expected - Harry learned that Ginny was going to be a Gryffindor, already knew more cooking and household charms than all her brothers combined, and was an accomplished embroiderer. She said that last bit with a mixture of irritation and pride.

Harry had to swallow her comment about the book her father had gotten her for her birthday - after all, a boy wouldn't be getting books on thread magic for a birthday gift - and instead asked, "Which class are you looking forward to most?"

With a grin that reminded Harry of the twins, Ginny responded, "Charms. I've got a mean Bat-Bogey Hex. Bill taught me."

Before Harry could ask - she'd never heard of that specific hex, but it sounded interesting - Mrs. Weasley patted her on the shoulder. "You go first, dear, and don't forget to get them signed! We'll meet you in a few moments." She felt herself pushed forward, and climbed the two stairs up to the platform.

Gilderoy Lockhart was already signing the flyleaf of a book, and adding it to a stack. "Hello there," Lockhart greeted her with a blinding smile. "You must be a huge fan of mine - now, now, no need to pretend otherwise," he added blithely, misinterpreting her scowl. He had just opened his mouth again when one of his attendants - a girl with elaborately braided brown hair and a heavily made-up face - came over and whispered in his ear. Another blinding grin spread across his face, and he stood up.

"Your attention, please!" he called out. The chatter in the store immediately died down, although a brief flurry of giggles and sighs rose in the silence. Harry flushed and edged sideways, hoping to escape the stares, but Lockhart slid an arm around her shoulders and trapped her to his side. He smelled like lavender and roses, which should have been pleasant, but was more stifling than anything else.

"I've been sitting on this little announcement all morning," he said with a broad smile. "And now that this charming young lad has just become my one-hundredth visitor this morning - yes, yes thank you," he added, over the sudden burst of applause, "I am very pleased to note that not only will this young Hogwarts student be receiving all of my works, signed and free of charge - " Harry staggered slightly as a stack of nine books was thrust into her arms - "but he and his peers will also be getting the _real_ me. I," he said grandly, before pausing dramatically, "will be joining the esteemed Hogwarts staff as professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts!" This time when the crowd broke into applause, Harry was able to wiggle free, just in time to escape the blinding flash of a camera. She darted down the stairs and towards Fred and George. The twins and Alex all had smirks on their faces.

"Had fun up there, Harry?" Alex asked smugly.

"Shut it," Harry snapped. "And don't you two even say anything," she snarled at the twins. They pretended to lock each other's mouths, throwing the keys over each others shoulders. Harry ignored them and addressed Alex. "You've got the book?"

He extracted a squat but thick book titled _Magicks of Ancient Central America_ from a paper bag between his feet. "Paid for it already, too," he added.

A sudden commotion near the door attracted their attention. Ron, Ginny, and a thin balding man Harry belatedly recognized as Mr. Weasley were facing off with Malfoy and his father. As they watched, Mr. Weasley lunged at the elder Malfoy, engaging in a muggle-style fist-fight.

Fred and George immediately started chanting, "Go Dad! Go Dad!" over the shocked screams and gasps of the crowd. Alex let out a delighted laugh, and Harry was torn between disapproval and appreciation when Mr. Weasley used _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_ to whack Mr. Malfoy over the head

"Now, see here!" Gilderoy Lockhart only managed to make himself heard over the crowd for a few seconds before Mrs. Weasley shrieked out, "Arthur Weasley! What _are_ you doing!"

The combatants didn't pay any attention to the outrage of Mrs. Weasley's voice or the mild interest of Gilderoy Lockhart's. In fact, they didn't pay attention to anything but each other until someone took advantage of a momentary gap between the two and cast a Shield Charm so powerful that Harry could see the flowing movement of the iridescent blue magic. The King stepped forward, face perfectly blank. Harry tried to blend in with the bookshelf behind her, but knew she'd failed when he glanced, ever-so-quickly, in her direction.

"Hey!" Alex hissed into her ear. "Isn't that the bloke that rescued you?"

"It is?" Fred asked immediately, and started inspecting the King with great interest.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "It might be." Alex frowned at her but then the King spoke.

"I'm sure you were only having a friendly tussle between mates, but I think Mr. Pellums here would prefer you continue your business elsewhere."

"Right you are," Mr. Weasley said apologetically, his left eye already starting to swell up. The only sign of his embarrassment was the dark shade of red his ears had acquired. "Molly - boys - Ginny - "

"Your books, girl," Mr. Malfoy sneered as delicately as he could with a split lip and bloody nose. "If they're the best your father can provide." Harry watched as Mr. Malfoy summoned a short stack of books from the messy piles scattered around during the fight, and shoved them at Ginny, who took them with shaking hands. Harry, Alex, Fred, and George were already making their way to the door, the crowds parting to let them through.

When they got there, the Malfoys had already swept out the door. "Come along," Mrs. Weasley said, ushering them out of the store. Harry was the last one to file out; behind her, she heard the murmurs start up, and the King speaking rapidly to the owner. But then the door swung shut, and she couldn't hear anything else.

Outside, Mrs. Weasley was scolding Mr. Weasley quietly.

"They'll be a while," Fred said in an undertone.

"D'you think we can get away without them noticing?" George asked pensively.

"Better not," Harry warned, shifting the enormous stack of Lockhart books carefully; they were heavy. "Your mum doesn't look like she's in any mood for it."

Fred snorted. "Since when has that stopped us?" But neither of them made any move to try and slip away. "Here, let me take some of those."

Despite her protests, each Fred and George took three books from her stack, and they carried them the rest of the way to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Are you heading out already?" Harry asked, disappointed. She'd wanted to spend more time with them.

"Looks like it," George answered, handing Harry back her books. "But feel free to come over any time."

"Mum loves guests."

"Just Floo us at the Burrow."

Harry bit her lip as she thought. "I - well, I'll see what I can do. It might not be worth it if my father finds out."

"What's life without a little risk?!" Fred quipped.

"He's already mad enough at me, and he hasn't even found out about my new haircut," Harry said glumly.

Fred's grin faltered, but George shrugged. "It's only a few weeks, anyways. We'll see you soon enough."

"But - " Fred began, only to be cut off by his mother.

"Fred! George! Your turn to go through. Say goodbye to your friends!"

After a slap on the back from each of the twins, a 'nice to meet you' for Alex, and a reminder to make some trouble, Fred and George Flooed away. Mrs. Weasley was kind enough to shrink Harry's books down to a more manageable size before seeing them through as well.

Back inside the wards of Potter Manor, Harry realized that she'd have to get one of the house elves to unshrink her books for her; asking James would be too risky. He'd ask too many questions.

"Hey," Alex said, breaking into her thoughts. "Want to go read the new book?" Harry nodded enthusiastically, leaving her musings on why the King had been in Diagon Alley for another day.


	4. Chapter 4

James' reaction to Harry's new-and-improved haircut wasn't nearly as bad as she'd thought it would be. He'd sighed and given her a disappointed look, but hadn't actually said anything, or even tried to foist a Hair-Growth Draught on her like he had at the beginning of summer.

"I think he's given up," Alex said after their father had left.

"Either that or he's too exhausted from working for four days without sleep." It had taken James longer to return from the Department of Mysteries than ever before - not even last year had he stayed away so long. In fact, last year, he'd actually come back for a few hours near the middle of the night, leaving only a rumpled copy of the previous day's _Daily Prophet_ as proof that he'd been there.

"I don't care why," Harry said, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the sentence she'd just read in _Year with a Yeti_. Lockhart was simply unbelievable, and not in a good way, either. "As long as he leaves the wards on my door down for the rest of the summer, it's fine by me if he wants to stay at work twenty hours a day." That, of course, was a bald-faced lie; Harry might not be close with her father - she hardly knew the first thing about him, and Draco Malfoy probably knew more of James' history than she did - but she loved him all the same. She was gone for most of the year, too, and wanted to see him at least for dinner, or even just breakfast, every day.

Alex, perhaps wisely, didn't say anything more on the subject, choosing to broach a new one. "Jonah is arriving in ten days. He and his parents are going to be staying at Dovecote Wayhouse."

"Where's that?" Harry asked, lowering the book a little so that she could see her brother as he lounged on one of the three couches in the middle of the library.

"Flower District, I think," Alex responded with a frown. "I told him it would be dangerous, but he said that nothing's as bad as the Mangrove City, whatever that means. I haven't been able to find any references to anything by that name, and he hasn't written back yet."

"Well," Harry said cautiously, "the Flower District is very close to Diagon Alley. There's only a few shops between them."

"How d'you - " Alex started, and then stopped. "Oh, yeah. I nearly forgot about your whole adventure down Knockturn Alley."

"Lucky you," Harry muttered, going back to her book. She hadn't slept well for the past three nights. She would wake each morning around three from nightmares, sometimes involving Ash, alive despite his gruesomely slit throat, and sometimes featuring a charred nearly past recognition - but always just recognizable that she knew who it was - Professor Quirrell. The worst yet had been an amalgamation of the two, with a blistered Ash chasing her through the dark rooms of the obstacle course under the school, towards the Mirror of Erised and the Sorcerer's Stone, crying out for her blood, with the bodies of her friends and family nailed to the walls of the rooms, their throats gaping red and shining.

Harry stood abruptly.

"You alright?" Alex asked, looking up from studying _Building Walls: A Comprehensive Guide to Shoring Up Your Mind and Exploring Your Center_, the book on Occlumency that Cedric had given her for her birthday.

"Fine," she said shortly. "I'm going for a fly." He shrugged and returned to the book. She picked up her stack of texts - although she privately thought it was a crime to call Lockhart's books 'textbooks' - and walked at a fast clip to her room. Within a few minutes, she was out the window and into the air. For a long while, Harry simply flew around the very edges of the Potter Estate, flying so close to the wards that her hair started to gain static from proximity. She only returned to her room when the sun began to sink past the horizon, and it became difficult to see where she was going.

Alex was waiting for her. "I know you're not telling me something," he said quietly as she stowed her Nimbus under her bed with the rest of the things she didn't want James to find. She only faltered for a moment, but since she was most of the way under her bed, Alex didn't see.

"There's lots of things I don't tell you," she retorted as she emerged and brushed some dust from her hair. And it was true - while she'd told her brother the gist of what had happened in the chambers under the trapdoor, she hadn't once mentioned the fact that she'd killed a man. Nor had she told him about Ash; she doubted she ever would. That would involve a deeper explanation of what had _really_ happened in the Lower Alleys, and she didn't think the King would take kindly to her publicizing his existence, even just to her brother.

"But something's bothering you," Alex pushed, staring at her.

Harry crossed her arms and glared at him; he didn't budge, not even under her worst glare. She relented a little, and brought up a subject that had been niggling at her conscience for the past weeks. "What are we going to do next year?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Alex was fiddling with the notes she'd been taking while reading the Lockhart books, and she snatched them away from him, stacking them on her desk.

"I mean," she said, organizing the Lockhart books by title, "I'm starting to…grow."

"You mean your baps?"

Harry flushed at her brother's bald statement. It was one thing hearing the boys in the locker room toss vulgarities about, but the same words were completely different when it was her brother that was saying them, about her instead of some faceless female. "Yes," she snapped. "And don't let Dad or any of the portraits hear you say that."

"Or what?" he scoffed. "The portraits can't _do_ anything."

"No," Harry pointed out, getting out her largely unused chess board and setting it up on the bed. "But they can order the elves to wash your mouth out with soap."

"Fine," Alex said lazily, making his first move. "But I don't see what the problem is." He wasn't referring to his language.

"I'm pants at charms," Harry said, "and glamours are one of the most taxing and tricky type. Potions won't work either, since there's no potion that can change a person's gender. Only Polyjuice does something of the sort, but it turns you into another _person_, not just a different version of yourself."

They played in silence for a long while, both of them trying to think of some way that Harry could disguise herself.

Finally, when Harry was beginning to realize that there was no way she could win the chess game, Alex sat up so quickly that a few of the 'dead' pieces rolled off the bed and onto the floor. "Transfiguration!" he exclaimed.

"I'm not Transfiguring myself," Harry said immediately. "Even I'm not slated to start human-transfiguration until fourth year, and that's at a sped-up pace!"

"So Transfigure your clothes," Alex said with a shrug, putting her king in Check.

"That won't…" Harry started, but trailed off. "That - might actually work," she said slowly, absently tipping over her king and getting to her feet. She rushed to her desk and pulled out _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy_. She flipped to the 'Altering and Modifying: Transmutations' chapter and read fervently through the section.

"Well?" Alex asked after a good five minutes. "Will it work?"

"It might," Harry responded, scrawling out notes and ideas on a piece of parchment. "It won't be very comfortable, but with the right alterations and binding material, and hair-cut and behavior, I should be able to make it work." She didn't mention that changing her clothes would do nothing for when she was in the Quidditch locker rooms, which was what she was most worried about; robes, after all, did hide a lot.

They spent the rest of the evening discussing her disguise, and when she went to bed that night, Harry congratulated herself on successfully distracting her brother from what she wasn't telling him.

* * *

The rest of the month of August went by quicker than Harry had expected. Once Jonah arrived to London, Alex spent a few hours each day in Diagon Alley. Harry always declined to join them after the first day, where she met Jonah and his parents and ate lunch with them. None of the three Americans even suspected that she was a girl.

The rest of the time when Alex was out of the house, Harry went back to her perusal of her mother's old belongings. It was during the last of these explorations - on August thirty-first - that she discovered a trunk at the very back of the room that she was positive hadn't been there last summer.

When she pulled it out and opened it, she saw that it was filled with letters. The vast majority were from her mother to her father, or vice versa, but a significant amount were signed off by either Moony, Padfoot, or Wormtail. She stared at the names, certain that she had seen them before, but unsure where. But the most interesting thing in the trunk was underneath the letters. When she pulled out the oddly shimmery fabric, Harry wasn't immediately sure what it was. Only when she draped it over a nearby box of her mother's robes did Harry realize that she'd just found an invisibility cloak.

Heart hammering in excitement, she draped the cloak over herself, and then stepped into the hallway, making sure to close the door behind her. Under the folds of the cloak, she roamed the halls for a good half hour: not a single portrait glanced her way, and even Mathilda, fluffing the pillows of the couches in the largest sitting room, didn't know she was there.

Alex was just as thrilled as she was at the discovery of the invisibility cloak, and tried it on himself. Before leaving to go to bed, though, he'd handed it back to her with a serious expression. "You should take it with you," he said, depositing the silky fabric in her hands. "You'll need it more - I'd just use it to make mischief." Harry didn't say that _she'd_ probably use it to make mischief too, but accepted it with a nod.

"If you ever need it - "

"I'll ask," Alex assured her, but she knew him well enough to know that he'd likely never ask. He'd just find a different way to hide.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked as he headed towards the door to her bathroom, and the secret passage within.

"Yeah. I'm meeting Jonah at the Leaky Cauldron, so we can Floo there together."

* * *

As with the year before, James woke Harry up shortly before six to say goodbye and wish her a successful year at school. He was gone before she'd truly come out of the hazy warmth of sleep.

When Alex joined her for breakfast, still yawning, his hair damp from bathing, she asked, "You've got your trunk all ready?"

"Yes - packed and everything," he replied, rather testily.

"Alright, alright," she muttered, spearing an orange slice with her fork. "No need to be mean about it." They ate the rest of their meal in sullen silence, until Triss reappeared and cleared away the dishes and uneaten food.

"'m'sorry," Alex mumbled as they started up the staircase to their rooms.

"It's fine." Harry didn't know exactly _why_ Alex was apologizing. They got into arguments more often than she could keep track of.

"I - well - just… be _careful_," her brother stressed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he hedged, dragging his fingers along the wall and earning a few rude remarks from the portraits he knocked into, "you nearly died in June, and then there was the troll and the wraith and - "

"I didn't _nearly die_!" Harry exclaimed, even though Alex was alarmingly close to the truth. "It was just a little fight - and Cedric was there the whole time!"

"_I_ should have been there!" Alex shouted, spinning and glaring at her. Harry sighed and ran a hand through her hair, making it stand on end, before trying to pat it back down.

"We couldn't have gone through this in, like, _July_?" she muttered quietly before saying calmly, "I can take care of myself, Alex."

"But - I should've - If I hadn't come up with the idea - "

"Look," she said firmly, "only three people - well, four, if you count Madam Pomfrey, and she's bound by oath to keep quiet - know that I'm a girl, and they're all trying to be all manly and responsible by trying to 'protect me'." Her voice had taken on a bitter overtone. "Having you there wouldn't make a difference, and I'd probably end up jinxing all of you before the week was up."

He sighed, and turned back down the hall towards his room. "I'll meet you in the dining room," he called back over his shoulder in a forcedly chipper tone of voice.

Harry shook her head and bounded up the stairs to her room. The two of them had never had anything like this happen before: she trusted Alex to take care of himself, and he trusted her to do the same. Alex was being weird, and she didn't like it.

When she met back up with Alex in the dining room, dressed in her Hogwarts uniform (which thankfully still fit from last year, even if the trouser hems showed a sliver of ankle when she sat), the fee for the Knight Bus in a readily accessible pocket, he was back to normal, and didn't say anything except, "Got everything?"

Glad that he hadn't brought the subject up again, she nodded. "Yeah. You?"

He gave her a sideways smirk. "Naturally." Harry smiled; even though he didn't know it, Alex had just done a remarkably good impression of Draco Malfoy at his most arrogant. "You go first," he added, the smile fading.

Harry moved towards the hearth, rolling her eyes as she did so even though she was inwardly still wary of Floo travel after her mishap. "I'll be coming right after you, so move quickly!" Alex called out as she stepped into the green flames, pulling her trunk with her, and cried out, "Leaky Cauldron!"

The dining room spun away, replaced by green flames and dizzyingly brief images of other rooms connected to the Floo Network. She pulled her trunk closer to her body, and immediately regretted it when she began spinning even faster. Starting to feel sick with the speed at which she was rotating, Harry closed her eyes. Only when she felt herself slowing down did she open them.

For once, she could actually see through her spectacles; someone on one of the ends of the Floo - either the Potter house elves or Tom the innkeep - had cleaned since she last come through. But even though she was far cleaner than usual, Harry still had to take her glasses off to clean them. She couldn't wait until she was seventeen so that she could just spell the soot off.

Harry had only barely moved out of the way when the fire flared green again and Alex stepped out.

"Made it alright?" he asked, heaving his trunk along after him, oblivious to the smears of ash on his cheeks and forehead.

"Yeah." Harry wished they'd said goodbye back at Potter Manor. She knew that at least three different strangers were watching them. "Where are you meeting Jonah?" she asked quietly.

"Up in his room, I think." Alex craned his neck around to check for his friend. "Yeah, he's not here so he'll be packing still." They stood for a moment, just looking at each other, before Harry stepped forward and hugged her brother.

"Write when you get there?"

"Only if you do too," Alex responded, squeezing her harder. "And I swear that I'll be taller than you by the end of the year."

Harry chuckled and stepped back. "No guarantees there."

She grabbed her trunk and started hauling it towards the door to muggle London, where she could hail the Knight Bus. Just before she stepped out the door, she looked back. Alex had started up the stairs. Harry grinned when she saw that his socks were bright purple; at least she got to wear somewhat normal socks as part of her uniform.

* * *

The pimply young conductor of the Knight Bus lugged her trunk aboard and set it by one of the many mismatched armchairs. Harry paid the four sickle fee to get to King's Cross, and then sat back, bracing her chair against the side of the bus. The ride was just as bumpy as she remembered. The only difference this year was that when a very dark-skinned Lee Jordan clambered aboard some ten minutes and three counties after the Leaky Cauldron, the boy came and sat next to her.

"Hey Harry!" he greeted her with a grin. "How was your summer?"

"Alright," Harry said with a shrug, nearly hitting her head on the window when the bus jumped to a new street. "Yours?"

Lee, apparently, had spent much of the summer abroad. This year, his family had traveled to southern Africa, spending most of their time in Kenya and Tanzania. Harry was jealous; she'd never even been off the island, or indeed anywhere besides Diagon Alley, Potter Manor, Kings Cross, and Hogwarts.

"Kings Cross!" the conductor bellowed out. Harry and Lee followed a vaguely familiar blonde girl off the bus. After loading her trunk onto a trolley, Harry and Lee followed the blonde to the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. One at a time, each of them slipped through from the muggle platforms to the largely empty magical counterpart.

"D'you know when Fred and George are getting here?" Lee asked as they teamed up to get each of their trunks onto the train. By unspoken agreement, they sat in the same compartment.

"Sorry, no." After a few minutes of silence, Harry stood up and pulled _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy_ from the top of her trunk. The book was deceptively slender: even though it wasn't very large, it was dense in words and very lacking in the large diagrams often found in her course books. For the next half-hour, they sat in silence. Harry was conscious of Lee's presence, but she didn't quite know what to say. While they were both friends with the twins, they didn't see each other much otherwise. She mostly hung out with Hermione and Neville; he had friends in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw that he spent time with when the twins were too busy for anyone except each other.

As eleven o'clock approached and the platform outside the windows got busier, Harry put her book away. She had just sat back down when Lee, looking out the window, exclaimed, "There they are!"

When she joined him at the window, she could see a cluster of red-haired boys moving towards the train. Mrs. Weasley and her daughter lagged behind them.

"Cutting it a bit close," Harry commented as she opened the window.

"They usually do," Lee said dryly.

Harry snickered as she stood on the seat and stuck her head and upper body out the window. "Oi! Fred! George!" The twins turned to the sound of their names, and as one, grinned. They turned their trolleys towards Harry. In less than two minutes, their trunks were loaded into the compartment and the twins had seated themselves - Fred next to Lee and George next to Harry.

Fred opened his mouth to say something, but the compartment door slid open before he could. Hermione and Neville stood there, a little unsure until Harry, grinning stood up. "What took you two so long?" she asked.

Hermione smiled, relieved, and came right in, storing her trunk in one of the two free spots under the seats. "We walked most of the train looking for you. Has your brother left for Asclepius yet?"

"Oh, yes, Alex, wasn't it?" Fred asked mock-pensively.

"Have we heard of him before?" George added.

Harry rolled her eyes as Hermione took the seat next to the door on the other side of Fred, leaving Neville to sit next to George. "Oh, I don't know," she said sarcastically. "I seem to remember a rather interesting trip to Flourish and Blotts."

"What happened?" Neville asked. He sported a faint spread of freckles across his nose and cheeks than he hadn't had a few months ago, and seemed to have lost some of his puppy weight, but besides that seemed mostly the same, right on down to Trevor, who now had his very own portable terrarium (presumably so that he wouldn't keep escaping).

Harry sighed, and together with the twins, explained what had happened in Flourish and Blotts. Partway through her diatribe about irritating blonde professors, the train began to move, picking up speed slowly. Hermione was more interested in the King than the story of the fistfight between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy ("Honestly - they're grown men!") and Harry then had to give the abridged version of her adventure down Knockturn Alley. Neville was strangely unimpressed by her adventure, although he did help explain to Hermione why Knockturn Alley and the related Lower Alleys were so dangerous.

Their conversation branched out from there. Neville described the plants he'd found in the Ivory Coast, and Hermione talked a little about her youngest cousin, who she thought might be a witch but couldn't be sure as the little girl was hardly even three months old. Lee entertained them with stories about his younger sisters - nine and eight respectively - and the wild beauty of Africa. Fred and George spoke of their older brothers Charlie and Bill visiting early in the summer.

After the sweet trolley came by, Harry brought out the eagle totem and passed it around. Fred and George came out of the experience with wide eyes and identical grins. Lee was interested in the magic that had been worked on the carving, but both Hermione and Neville looked a little ill and only spent a minute or so in the trance.

"Although it is fascinating how such an ancient race could have worked out such complex magic without the use of wands or staffs," Hermione mused as color slowly came back to her cheeks.

"You'd get along great with Alex," Harry said, her voice a little muffled as she returned the eagle totem to her trunk. "He spent about a week researching them. Had to get a book and everything." Harry had written to Hermione about the library in Potter Manor, even though she knew that the chances of her friend ever actually seeing it were slim to none. Even if the wards _did_ allow Hermione onto the property, Harry wouldn't be able to invite her over: James thought that Hermione was Alex's friend, not hers.

The rest of the train ride to Hogwarts was spent playing Exploding Snap. Only once the train began to slow down did Harry realize that they had yet to put on their robes. The last five minutes on the train were spent in a hurry, first finding their robes and putting them on, and then trying to neaten their compartment to at least a _less_ messy state. The six of them were amongst the last students to get off the train, with only the two Prefects - both sixth year Hufflepuffs - lingering to makes sure all students had disembarked.

Once on the platform, Harry realized that she didn't know how the upper years got to and from Hogwarts. Last year, she, Hermione, and Neville had taken boats across the Black Lake when arriving and when leaving. Now, however, they weren't first years.

"How do we get to Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Lee answered first. "Horseless carriages."

"The _what_?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Carriages that pull themselves," George supplied.

"Like autos, but carriages and no _eggends_," Fred added.

"Engines," Hermione corrected automatically. Only Lee chuckled; Harry just felt confused. She obviously knew what an automobile was, but she'd never heard of an engine before.

"See," Lee said when they rounded a bend about a minute later. Harry stopped in her tracks, nearly tripping Neville, who also stared at the carriages in a mixture of fear and horror while the other four continued towards the carriages without worry, listening to Hermione as she hypothesized what could be responsible for the carriages pulling themselves.

Harry didn't have to postulate. She could see what was pulling the carriages: horses. But horses the likes of which she'd never seen before. They had the hooves and the tail and the equine shape, and as she watched, one of them flared out a pair of leathery wings, revealing skin stretched tightly over bone, so that she could count every rib and vertebrae, and the shoulder and pelvic bones stood out in a grotesque manner. Each carriage was pulled by only one of the ghastly creatures.

"I - can you see them too?" she asked Neville, once she'd swallowed a few times as she adjusted to the creatures' appearance.

Neville nodded once, short and jerky. "Do you think they'll attack us?" he whispered shakily.

Harry paused. "No," she said stoutly, grabbing Neville's wrist and starting forward. He whimpered once, quietly, but strode with her as they tried to catch up with the others. "Someone had to put them in harness, and they've probably been used for years."

Harry barely noticed what the others spoke about on the ride up to the castle; she was too busy wondering what the creatures were. If Neville hadn't been able to see them too, she probably would have thought she was hallucinating.

* * *

Her preoccupation with the weird horses lasted all the way through dinner. It was only Fred's loud, "Wattlebird," that brought her out of her reverie. In the common room - she only belatedly noticed that Ginny Weasley had, in fact, become a Gryffindor - Hermione pulled her over to the side while the twins and Lee set off a few firecrackers in celebration of the first night back at school.

"Are you all right, Harry?" her friend asked in concern. "You've been distracted all night. Did you even see Cedric when he waved?"

Harry flushed in guilt. "No. I - did you really not see anything pulling the carriages?"

Whatever Hermione had been expecting, it wasn't that. "No," she said slowly, and then, as expected, she asked, "Did you see something?"

"Me and Neville both," Harry affirmed.

Hermione turned to look up the stairs. Harry assumed that Neville had already slipped up to the dorm. "What did you see?" she asked warily.

A loud burst of laughter made Harry pause and look around, but it was only Fred and George. They'd fed a firecracker to a salamander, and it was zooming around the room with sparks flying out of its mouth. Ignoring the mayhem - there'd be more to come, anyways - Harry described the skeletal horses as best she could. "And they had wings, too," she finished.

"What about eyes?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook her head. "If they did, they were all black. I couldn't see any." Despite herself, she shivered.

"But why couldn't _I_ see them?" Hermione wondered, her voice betraying a certain amount of frustration.

"Be glad you can't," Harry murmured. "They're not exactly conducive to good dreams." She was already dreading falling asleep. Her dreams of late had been riddled with Quirrell, Ash, and screams and burning flesh. She had a bad feeling that the horses would make their own appearances.

"Ooh," Hermione growled, crossing her arms and glaring at the twins, who were now throwing a Fanged Frisbee back and forth while standing on tables, the students in between them either ducking or trying to catch it. Harry wondered where Percy was - he was one of the few Prefects that would actually confiscate anything from the twins. "I wish the library was open already." Hermione looked genuinely upset. "Then we could find out what the horse creature is. If Neville can see it too, then it's definitely real."

Harry smiled. "It's good to be back."

Hermione looked at her, startled, but gave an answering smile, soft and understanding. "I know what you mean. I love my parents very much, and really enjoy spending time with them, but…" she trailed off, looking a little lost.

Harry finished for her. "They just don't understand." It was something she'd read in her mother's oldest journal, the only one that was amongst her other things; the other journals were likely stored away somewhere else.

"How do you - " Hermione shook her head. "Never mind," she sighed. The two of them stood for a moment longer, watching the boisterous students as they chattered and giggled, happy to be at Hogwarts - from first year all the way to seventh, although the seventh years were busy passing a bottle of alcohol around and Ginny had clearly been crying - before sighing again. "I don't see how they're going to be able to function properly tomorrow if they stay up much later," Hermione said waspishly.

"The twins or everyone else?" Harry asked, a small smile on her face. "Because if you ask me, the twins can probably do just fine even if they stayed up all night." And Harry would know; the twins had stayed up quite late the year before when plotting, and they were nearly always the last people to leave the Quidditch parties. Either that, or the parties ended when the twins left.

"Everyone else," Hermione said, but Harry could see a corner of her mouth twitched. "Goodnight, Harry."

"G'night. See you tomorrow." They split up, Hermione heading up the stairs to the girls' dorms, while Harry mounted those that led to the boys'.

As she'd expected, Neville was already in the dorm. He was laying on his bed in his pajamas. He'd already put his things away. Harry noticed that he'd collected a few more potted plants over the summer. His bedside table looked like a little jungle, with Trevor's terrarium in the middle. A small bubble of warmth blossomed inside her when she realized that Neville had used her gift: the glass sphere, almost identical in shape to a Remembrall, sat on the stand she'd made for his Remembrall last year. A beautiful blossoming twig - no more than an inch and a half long - was suspended in the middle.

"Is that for Professor Sprout?" Harry asked, opening her trunk and pulling out her books and shelving them for easy access. Her myriad trinkets - she didn't really have very many - followed suit, as did her supply of parchment, ink, and quills. She tucked her Nimbus under her bed.

"Yeah. It's from a cacao tree." Harry stopped from digging through her trunk for her pajamas and stared at Neville.

"You mean, chocolate?" He nodded and smiled wanly at her expression.

"It won't grow well here," he said, "and it's not really useful in potions, but I thought she'd like it." Now he looked nervous.

"Neville," she said seriously, "I'm not a particular fan of plants, and I think _I'd_ like a cacao tree."

His eyes widened. "Oh."

Harry grinned at his expression, and left for the bathroom. When she returned, dressed in her pajamas and ready for bed, Neville was snoring softly, curled tightly on his side. A yawn split her face, and she grimaced. _Riding a train shouldn't be so exhausting_, she thought as she clambered into bed, settling herself onto the feather-soft mattress with a sigh. She was asleep before Ron, Seamus, and Dean came up, only waking slightly when one of them - most likely Ron - stubbed his toe and swore up a storm. Harry only smiled and turned over. It was good to be back.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry sat up with a muffled scream, panic making her eyes dart around the dark room and her breath come in harsh gasps. Only when she'd ascertained that there were no vampires or creepy horses or creepy vampiric horses did she allow herself to relax, slumping against the headboard. A quick glance out the window told her that it was nearing dawn. With a sigh, she got out of bed - there was no use trying to get back to sleep after _that_ nightmare - and retreated to the bathroom. One steaming hot shower later, she moved herself down to the common room, which was empty but there was a banked fire in the hearth, and opened her _Standard Book of Spells: Grade Two._ She'd barely gotten the chance to turn to chapter eight (_Lighting the Way: Tricks and Charms of Fire and Related Substances)_ when Oliver Wood jogged into the common room.

"There you are," he said briskly, looking pleased. "Good to see that you're awake. Get dressed - we've got practice." He turned to go back up the staircase to the boys dorms.

"Now?" Harry asked incredulously. "It's not even five thirty!"

"Exactly!" Oliver called over his shoulder, and was gone before Harry could say anything else. Not that she would have, in any case. Harry, with a grin on her face, bounded up the stairs and into her room, only remembering to be quiet when Dean mumbled loudly, "Don' wanna!" before burrowing into his pillow. Smothering her snickers, Harry dumped her book on her neatly made bed (the house elves must have been chomping at the bit for work to do) and grabbed her broom from underneath.

She raced back down to the common room, nearly mowing over Zakir and Ryan on the way. "Sorry!" she whispered.

They just yawned.

Surprisingly - or perhaps not, after last night's conversation with Hermione - the twins were wide awake. Harry knew from a single glance that they'd been up all night, and had set up a prank.

"Who is it?" she asked as the seven of them - Oliver steering a mostly-asleep Aiden by the shoulder - made their way through empty corridors.

"That'd be telling, wouldn't it," George said smugly.

"You'll see soon enough." Fred looked positively gleeful, and Harry had to wonder who had invoked their ire this early in the school year.

It turned out to be a good thing that it was a Sunday. Oliver had apparently spent most of the summer making new Quidditch plays, and, at least four separate times, stressed the importance of keeping the Quidditch Cup in Professor McGonagall's office.

By the time they walked stiffly out of the training room and onto the field, the sun was fully up, and there were three figures seated in the Gryffindor section of the stands.

"Who's that?" Oliver asked suspiciously, squinting at the figures.

"Those two are Hermione and Neville," Harry supplied, recognizing Hermione's bushy hair. "No clue about that one, though," she added, nodding towards the smallest of the three.

"First year Gryffindor." It was George who had given the answer, his Beater's bat in one hand and his broom in the other.

"That's all right, then," Oliver said, turning his back on the observers. "Well? What are you waiting for?! In the air!"

Eagerly, Harry mounted her broom. Although she'd flown over the summer, flying by herself wasn't the same as practicing with all four of the Quidditch balls in play.

They had started in on one of Oliver's new plays - something he called the Ditetra Chaser Shield - when an odd clicking noise reached Harry's ears. She looked around wildly for the source of the noise, nearly running into Ryan.

"It's that firstie!" Fred yelled. Harry frowned in confusion, realizing that she had missed more than she had thought the night before.

"What's he doing?" Oliver yelled back, still leading the group towards the opposite goals. "Spying for the Slytherins?"

"No need!" Harry called out. "They can spy for themselves!" Their formation fell apart immediately, although Harry had to perform a Sloth-Grip Roll to dodge one of the Bludgers. She joined the rest of her team on the ground, facing off against the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"What's the meaning of this!" Wood asked, anger flushing his cheeks a light red. "I booked the field last night!" He was practically spitting in anger. Harry got the impression that he hadn't thought any of the other teams would start practicing until at least a week into the school year.

Marcus Flint, Captain of the Slytherin team, gave a toothy smile. It wasn't pretty. "We've got permission from our Head of House to use the field to train our new Seeker."

Harry immediately stepped out from behind Zakir and searched the group of Slytherins. "Who is it, then?" she asked when she couldn't see anyone new.

The three Chasers stepped aside, revealing a very smug Draco Malfoy. Harry couldn't help but snort.

"What's so funny, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

"Nothing," she waved him off. "Just wondering how much you had to pay Higgs to get his spot on the team."

Malfoy flushed an unbecoming pink while Fred and George did a poor job disguising their sniggers as coughs. "My Father - " he began, but Fred cut in.

"That would certainly explain the new brooms."

Belatedly, Harry noticed that each of the members of the Slytherin team carried the newest broom, the Nimbus 2001.

"They were a generous gift from an anonymous Slytherin alumni," Flint snarled.

"Oh?" Harry asked archly. "Well, it's a pity, then, that you'll just look even worse when we beat you on our horribly _old_ brooms."

"You'll get yours, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "You and the rest of your so-called _team_. They must pick members out of pity: the dirt-poor Weasels, the boy who couldn't save his own sister, someone who's been hit in the head too many times with a Bludger, and you, whose own mother wasn't magic enough to survive childbirth."

Fred had to hold her back, while George and Oliver wrestled Zakir - whose face had gone white with rage - to the ground.

"At least none of them had to _buy_ their way onto the team," Hermione spoke up. She, Neville, and the still unnamed first-year had come down from the stands, most likely to see what the Slytherin team was doing on the field. "_They_ got in on pure talent."

The Slytherins stopped their appreciative snickering and glared at Hermione. "Nobody asked _you_, Mudblood."

"Why you - !" Harry shrieked, struggling again against Fred, who loosened his grip just enough for her to get a few inches closer to Malfoy, who took an involuntary step back. George looked like he was tempted to let Zakir free completely, and Oliver gaped at Malfoy in shock. Zakir spat at Malfoy's feet before wresting himself free of Oliver and George and stalking towards the Gryffindor locker room. Aiden and Ryan scowled threateningly and muttered something about 'Death Eater scum' just low enough for Malfoy to not be able to hear.

Surprisingly, it was Neville who spoke the loudest. "Scion Malfoy," he began stiffly, and Harry froze in shock. Fred's grip on her arms slackened completely when he registered Neville's words and what they implied was about to happen, and Harry numbly brushed his hands off. Even the Slytherins looked a little taken aback, and Malfoy was even paler than ever, except for two spots of color high on his cheeks. "As representative and Heir Apparent to the Most Ancient and Loyal House of Longbottom, I hereby declare yourself and all of thy descendants until the end of thine line to forevermore be considered no more than the lowest of traitors and enemies of mine house."

The field was silent, except for a single _click_ of a camera shutter. Harry absently reached out and lowered the first-year boy's camera: the gravity of the situation was far beyond the first-year muggleborn, and even Hermione looked confused.

Malfoy swallowed heavily before speaking. "Heir Longbottom," he said, voice breaking embarrassingly on the second syllable. "Might I request the reason for this change in relations between the Ancient and Wise House of Malfoy and that of thine own?"

"The dire insult of a personage under the aegis of mine House."

Hermione looked about to open her mouth, but Harry shifted her broom so that it knocked against the other girl's elbow. This was _not_ a good time for questions.

Malfoy's gulp was audible this time, and a few of his new teammates were backing away, doing anything to distance themselves from the Scion. Harry was very glad that she had an older brother to deal with such politics, even if he was less interested in them than she was (and she wasn't interested in politics at all). Although she herself was, technically, a Scion of the Most Ancient and Honorable House of Potter, as a female - or even the second son she pretended to be - all political power for the family would fall to Alex.

"Might I see the symbol of affirmation?" he croaked.

Everyone turned to stare at Hermione, who looked lost.

"Your necklace, Hermione," Neville prompted quietly. Still with a confused expression, Hermione pulled a fine silver chain from the neck of her robes until, at last, a silver pendant of an ivy leaf and what could only be a sprig of heliotrope - _Longbottom _heliotrope - was visible to everyone on the field.

Looking as if he had just taken a bite of maggoty porridge, Malfoy inclined his head ever-so-slightly towards Hermione and ground out, "My apologies, Ward Granger," before turning on his heel and striding off the Quidditch pitch.

As the rest of the Slytherin team followed, Harry whispered to Fred, "Probably going to write his father." She was completely serious, despite how easy it would have been to make a joke of the same words. It wasn't every day that a new House Feud was declared: of the eight now in existence, the Malfoys were recipients of two and propagators of one. The Potters had none, because even if they rarely got along with the more conservative Houses, no one had dared declare against the Potters; there was a reason for the lack of Dubrey's in Britain. The only survivors of the family had fled, and even three hundred years later, didn't dare return.

"_What_," Hermione asked heavily, "was all of that about?"

With the retreat of the Slytherins, Neville seemed to lose much of his confidence, and he shrugged slightly. "Just - erm - my Gran is really conservative."

At Hermione's frown, Harry explained, "It means that she follows the old traditions, even those that are really rather - well - _outmoded_, like wearing hats to show personal status, and observing days of holiday that most have forgotten, and…" Harry trailed off.

Neville picked up her sentence in a quiet voice, "And following bloodlines." At the look on Harry's face, he added, "But she's not a supremecist, and neither am I."

George snorted. "Well, I would've thought that was obvious."

"Especially given that you made Hermione a Ward of your House," Fred chimed in.

"But what does it all _mean_?" Hermione stressed impatiently. "What was with all the 'Most Ancient' and 'Loyal' bits? And what's a mudblood?" Harry, Neville, and the remainder of the Quidditch team - Aiden and Ryan had gone to fetch Zakir - sucked in their breaths at nearly the same time.

"All yours, mate," Fred muttered.

Shooting him an irritated glare, Harry nevertheless spoke up. "It's a really offensive word for someone whose parents are muggles," she said, trying to find a nice way to phrase it. "It's basically saying that - that because your parents weren't wizards, that you're somehow impure - no, not impure….that you're _lesser_ than someone with prior magic in their bloodline."

There was a moment of silence, until the small camera-bearing boy spoke for the first time. "So a supremacist," he said slowly, fiddling with the strap of his camera, "would think that they're better than someone like me, just because their parents can use magic?"

"Not just their parents," Oliver said, scowling heavily at no one in particular. "Their entire family tree."

"But that - that's like _racism_!" Hermione exclaimed. "Except I'm just as English as Malfoy!"

"Not according to him, you're not," Harry muttered.

"That is absolutely barbaric," Hermione sniffed. "Come on, Neville," she snapped, already moving. "We're going to the library." When Neville made to protest - albeit rather weakly - Hermione added, "And on the way, you can explain _exactly_ what else your Christmas gift means." Harry snickered slightly at the expression of sudden fear on Neville's face as he trotted to catch up with Hermione's furious pace.

"What about me?" the first year asked in the sudden quiet after Neville and Hermione's departure.

"You stay here," Harry said firmly, and seeing Oliver about to protest, said quickly, "and document our practice. _But_," she added warningly, "you have to turn over all of the pictures to Captain Wood here - " she gestured towards a suddenly thoughtful-looking Oliver " - and he _might_ let you have a few back once he's had a chance to study them."

"Excellent idea, Potter," Oliver said, cutting off the boy's remark prematurely. "You there, what's your name?"

"Colin Creevey, Captain Wood, sir," the boy said eagerly, fingers already twitching, as if he couldn't wait to start taking photos.

"Well, Creevey, what I want you to do is take photos of our formations - you know, when we're all…"

Harry stepped back from the conversation to join Fred and George.

"What've you done?" Fred groaned theatrically, leaning on his brother.

"Created a monster, that's what," George answered.

Harry glanced from Oliver's enthusiastic waving of his hands in an attempt to get his point across, to Colin's eager, bright face. "Er - sorry?" she offered weakly.

Then Oliver was shouting at all of them - Aiden, Ryan, and a surly Zakir just having emerged from the Gryffindor locker room - to get into the air. As Harry shot into the sky, the sound of manic clicking followed: Colin was taking his new position very seriously.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, several of the second-year pureblood children from other houses dropped by the Gryffindor table to speak with both Hermione and Neville.

"Is it true?" Ron Weasley asked after Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, and Zacharias Smith returned to an eagerly waiting Hufflepuff table.

"Hmm?" Harry asked absently as she inspected her new schedule. Her morning started off with Potions, and then outside for Herbology, and then double Defense Against the Dark Arts; after lunch was History of Magic. The only class she could truly say she was looking forward to was Herbology.

"Did Neville really make Granger a Ward of his House?" Ron pressed again. Seamus and Dean were listening in avidly, as were Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil from across the table.

"Look," she said, rolling her eyes as she stuffed her schedule into her bookbag. "Why don't you just ask one of them - they're literally less than five feet away from you." She stood and asked the twins, "D'you need anything from the dorms? I've forgot my dragonhide gloves, and am headed up anyways."

Fred shook his head, elbowing George in the side until he mumbled an indistinct, 'No,' around his mouthful of potatoes and catsup, but only after glancing eagerly to the Slytherin table. Harry caught the way his face fell, and, in a whisper, asked, "Expecting something to happen?"

They twins exchanged a quick glance, and then grinned. "Nope," Fred said cheerfully.

"Whatever could have made you think such a thing?!" George exclaimed.

Harry grinned back at them. "Fine. I won't ask. I'll just wait."

Their grins darkened somewhat, bordering on snarls. "That you will," they promised together. "That you will."

The twin's words were completely driven from Harry's mind only a few minutes later. She was using one of the passages that the twins had showed her over the course of the past year - really, the moving staircases were just so inconvenient, with no noticeable schedule to their changes - when she heard a chilling voice.

_'So hungry…for so long…blood…I need blood…' _

Harry froze, staring around wildly, heart pounding faster than it ever had before. Had Ash become a ghost? Was he going to haunt her for the rest of her life? After a tense minute of silence, Harry squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them again. Nothing had changed. She let out a long sigh and resumed her journey to Gryffindor tower. If her pace was slightly faster than it had been before the odd…hallucination, well, she couldn't afford to be late to the first day of class, could she.

Ten minutes later, as she caught up to Hermione and Neville outside of Snape's classroom, she vowed to get more sleep. Hopefully, if she slept for longer each night, she wouldn't hear that odd, terrible voice again.

* * *

As opposed to the first half of last year, where Snape deliberately picked on Harry and her friends, the first Potion's lesson passed almost pleasantly. Snape seemed to have decided to ignore all of the Gryffindors the best he could, and hardly spared a glance towards Harry's Curative Base, the precursor to many of the more common healing potions, during his customary supervisory sweeps of the classroom. It wasn't difficult for Harry to figure out that the incident in June had drastically changed his mind about her, and as she added a pinch of pink Himalayan salt crystals, she wondered if he treated his class of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs with this lofty indifference.

Just as Snape wasn't as antagonistic as usual, the Slytherins were also relatively silent on their half of the classroom. Harry supposed that Neville's declared Feud had sent a warning out to the rest of the school, even if he hadn't meant to: Don't mess with the Gryffindors. They guard their own.

* * *

Herbology was largely uneventful. As usual, they shared the class with Hufflepuff. Harry, Neville, and Hermione ended up sharing a tray with Susan Bones, who had eschewed working with her friend Hannah Abbott (the two were rarely seen apart from one another) in order to pass a message along from Cedric.

"Diggory wants to know if you're all right, Potter," Susan said in an undertone as the four of them waited for the rest of the class to finish trying to get a pair of earmuffs that weren't pink and fluffy. "He said that the three of you are invited to eat dinner at the Hufflepuff table, if you like." Susan then frowned, and asked, "I know it's really none of my business, but how do you know Cedric?"

While Professor Sprout ended a dispute between Lavender Brown and Sophie Roper over a pair of dark purple earmuffs (by handing each of them burnt orange ones that had the both of them grimacing in distaste), Harry replied in an undertone. "He's my twin brother's godbrother. Informally - it was never sworn in. But he's promised to watch over me, or something like that," she groused.

At Susan's surprised expression, Harry added, "Alex - my brother - is a bit protective of me after everything that happened last year."

Susan nodded knowingly - after all, the Hogwarts rumor mill was second to none, and the points that Harry and her friends had earned at the end of last year had sparked quite a few. And that wasn't even mentioning the mountain troll that just about everyone (including this year's first years) knew about. Susan opened her mouth, doubtlessly to ask another question, but Professor Sprout began to introduce them to the plants on the trays - mandrakes - and not long after that the earmuffs went on, making any attempt at conversation futile.

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts turned out to be more of a joke that it had been the previous year, when Lord Voldemort himself was their professor. At least Quirrell-Voldemort actually taught them about topics relevant to the subject, difficult though it had been to understand him through his stuttering; even his lack of practical lessons was better than Lockhart's attempt.

Lockhart started out by strutting into the classroom wearing a set of flamboyant turquoise robes that Dumbledore had likely complemented at breakfast. His hair was perfectly curled - even Lavender couldn't do so well with Vanity Charms - and his smile nearly blinding.

"Hello, hello, _hello_," he greeted them, posing at the front of the room. Harry mentally cursed Hermione for choosing seats so far up in the classroom, and made up for the too-close-for-comfort view by stacking her set of Lockhart books in front of her, and then proceeded to show her disinterest by cleaning dirt - that had somehow snuck into her dragon-hide gloves - from under her fingernails. "Let me introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor…me." There was an awkward pause in which he probably expected applause, but only got appreciative sighs from a few of the girls (even the Slytherins) and stony silence from the rest of the class.

"Now that I'm here," Lockhart started after a moment of bewilderment, "you've no reason to fret! I will prepare you for the worst of what awaits you outside of these walls." He knocked his wand against a cage covered with a plum-colored length of cloth. It rattled and shook, making Neville, who was sitting next to Hermione, jump a little.

Ron, next to Harry, muttered something along the lines of 'mental tosspot'. Harry was glad to know that Ron, at least, shared her opinion of Lockhart, although probably not for the same reasons. She didn't like him because, frankly, his books just didn't add up. There were incongruous details all over the place; she was surprised that Hermione hadn't picked up on them.

The ensuing lesson did nothing to assuage her irritation with the man; if anything, her feelings grew into resentment. Not only did Professor Lockhart hand out a test that, although he claimed it was all facts from his various books, contained only questions about himself, but afterwards he praised both Harry and Hermione for doing so well. Harry flushed and glared at her desk, while Hermione turned a light pink. She hoped that when - or if - Lockhart got around to reading her full answers, he wouldn't be so happy. Because even though she knew she'd answered every single one of the questions correctly - from 'What is Professor Lockhart's favorite color?' to 'What is Professor Lockhart's ideal birthday gift?' - she had also added scathing remarks that she suspected even Professor Snape (the new version, anyways) could find some amount of respect for.

The lesson rapidly devolved - she hadn't imagined it _could_, but it did -when Lockhart revealed the 'dangerous and deadly' creatures in the cage: Cornish Pixies.

Seamus snorted. "Oh, come on," he guffawed. "_Those_ are _dangerous_?!"

And Harry couldn't help but admit that her Irish roommate had a point. The pixies were electric blue, and no more than half a foot in height. They were pressing against the bars, straining to get out, and jabbering in high-pitched unintelligible noises. Aside from their blue skin, bulbous eyes, and rather larger-than-proportional heads, the pixies looked somewhat human - they didn't even have wings, even though they flew quite speedily in their small enclosure.

Her opinion of the pixies changed within seconds. "Let's see what you make of them!" Professor Lockhart declared, opening the cage. The pixies rocketed out so fast that the cage tipped backwards, clattering onto the floor. Harry could hardly hear the metal connect with the floor, so loudly and well were the pixies wreaking havoc on the classroom.

The Slytherins had (mostly) scrambled for the door, with only Crabbe and Goyle doing their best to land a hit on the flying menaces. Malfoy, who'd been mostly quiet that entire class, and hadn't once sneered at a single Gryffindor, was cowering beneath his desk. Harry would've made fun of him, but most of the Gryffindors were doing the same. Only Neville - who'd been lifted by the ears and hung on the hook holding up the small dragon skeleton - and Dean, who was engaged in a game of tug-of-war for his bag with one of the blue creatures, hadn't made it to some sort of hiding place. Harry and Ron were using their books as clubs - Ron hit one pixie particularly well, sending it careening into three other pixies before colliding with the wall.

"Nice one," Harry grunted as she tried to aim a pixie at Lockhart, who was staring bemusedly at the class (it was difficult to aim well when crouched under a desk).

"Thanks." Ron hit another one through a broken window (a fair amount of books had already been dumped through them, as well as most of Lockhart's supply of lilac ink). Harry spared a moment to glance over at Hermione; the other girl was holding her own, crouched down in a corner of the room and trying to hit pixies with pink-colored jets of light.

"Come now, they're only pixies!" Lockhart shouted over the screams of students and the shrill chattering of pixies.

"_Only _pixies," Harry muttered. "Didn't he just describe them as dangerous and deadly?"

Ron gave a snort of laughter that was cut off by a pixie yanking at his hair. Harry smacked the creature away (it bounced off of a cabinet, shook its head, and zoomed, a bit crookedly, towards an extremely flustered Lavender Brown, who was brandishing a bottle of perfume at no less than three pixies who looked like they'd spent the night in a bar and kept dropping inches in the air before hauling themselves up towards their brethren).

"_Peskipiksi Pesternomi_!" Lockhart bellowed, flourishing his wand. The only thing that happened was a pixie easily seizing his wand and throwing it out one the broken windows. Lockhart whimpered and took refuge under his desk.

The bell rang only a few moments later, and students streamed from the room. The pixies, momentarily distracted by the loud noise, eagerly fled the room in search of better things to destroy. Harry ignored the startled shrieks from the halls and gathered up her things while Hermione, now freed from her corner, lowered Neville from the ceiling.

"Thanks," Neville said shakily, picking up his miraculously unmolested bag from under the desk that he and Hermione had been sharing.

"No problem," Harry said darkly, slinging her bag over her shoulder and kicking a few loose pages from someone's copy of _Break with a Banshee_ out of her way.

Out in the hallway, three suits of armor had been toppled off their plinths, and a sixth year Ravenclaw girl was sobbing, her hands clamped over her ears.

"Right," Harry said, turning to Hermione. "D'you still think he's so great?"

"I - well - it's his first day!" she protested, rather weakly.

Harry smirked and led the way to the common room, eager to get rid of Lockhart's heavy set of books.

* * *

Harry didn't find out who the twins had targeted until lunch, although to be fair, she'd quite forgotten about the matter in the mayhem of Defense Against the Dark Arts. A loud shriek drew her attention to the Slytherin table. Pansy Parkinson had leapt to her feet, and was running with an awkward gait towards the doors, her hands clamped over the sides of her head. Unfortunately, she couldn't quite hide the pale yellow horns and white cow's ears that had sprouted just above her own ears, nor the tail that flopped around at the back of her robes.

The entire room stared for a moment before bursting into laughter. Harry, although laughing a little with the rest, glanced towards Fred and George. They had victorious expressions on their faces, and for a moment, she could almost understand why the Slytherins hated the twins so much: they could be downright vicious.

"What did she do?" Harry asked as the rest of the Great Hall discussed Pansy's humiliation.

"Messed with Ginny on the train," George said darkly.

"No one messes with our little sister," Fred added, taking a bit of his sandwich with more force than was strictly necessary.

Harry glanced down the table towards where Ginny and the rest of the Gryffindor first years sat. The youngest Weasley was smiling and chattering away with two small girls - one nearly as blonde as Malfoy, and the other with frizzy brown ringlets. Colin sat a few seats down, and was fiddling with his camera.

"She seems alright now, though," she said.

"Well, yeah," Fred agreed.

"Why wouldn't she be?" George asked.

Harry just shook her head. "Never mind."

Hermione, who had yet to turn away from the doors to the rest of the castle, finally spoke. "How did you two do that?" she asked slowly. "It can't have been a charm - that would've gone off at breakfast time, even if Parkinson wasn't here. And there's no way you could've jinxed her food from here."

Fred and George grinned. "Trade secrets, Hermione. Trade secrets."

Hermione scowled at the twins as they stood, hauling Harry from her seat. "Come on, Potter," George said, steering her away from the table.

"We've got things to do," Fred added.

"I'll catch up to you two in History!" Harry called over to Hermione and Neville. Hermione was still frowning in concentration, and Harry knew she was trying to figure out how the twins had targeted Pansy. Neville, though, nodded his acceptance, and returned to his lunch.

"Well?" Harry asked when they reached an empty classroom. It was close enough to the History of Magic classroom that it would only take her a minute or two to get to class. In any case, Professor Binns probably wouldn't notice if she was late.

The twins glanced at each other, having one of their silent conversations. After only a few seconds, George spoke. "Look," he said, clearly starting what would be a long explanation, "this summer we - that is, Fred and I - did some thinking about you and your, well, _image_." He gestured vaguely towards her upper chest.

Harry raised her eyebrows. "And?" she asked tartly. "Any stunning revelations?"

George stumbled over his next words, and Fred took over. "None that you need to know about," he cut in smoothly. "But we figured that you'd have to do something to disguise yourself better than you are now."

George nodded his agreement. "At first, we thought about glamours," he admitted, "but then we realized that not only would they have to be reapplied every six hours, for the really strong ones, but it's rather easy to break through them with a simple _Finite_."

"Then, we thought about a modified Polyjuice," Fred joined in. "But the only person really talented enough at Potions to get any sort of success is Hermione, and even then, the probabilities aren't that great. Only Snape would have success in time for it to be useful for you." Harry nodded her agreement of Fred's statement. Even though Potions was one of her better subjects, it was due to hard work and many years of perusing her mother's old textbooks, which had little notes and hints scribbled in the margins. Talent-wise, Hermione had a much more innate sense for how potions worked. Harry was more suited for Transfiguration and Defensive magic.

"Plus," George added, "you'd have to take it every hour, unless you also modified it to last longer, which no one's ever done before." The three of them thought on that for a moment.

"So I suppose the only thing that's left is Transfiguration," Harry said.

The twins nodded, slight grins on their faces.

"Alex and I already considered it," she told them.

Their grins faded a bit. "And?" Fred asked. "What d'you think?"

"It'll be fine for when I'm wearing clothes, but useless otherwise."

"So, most of the time, then," George supplied.

"But the whole _point_ of me doing all…_this_," she gestured wildly to herself and the room at large, "is so that I can play Quidditch! How am I supposed to do that if I can't even get changed in the locker rooms!?"

Fred and George exchanged a glance. "Well," Fred declared, a bit pompously, puffing out his chest as he drew a somewhat flimsy book from his bag, "we've found just the thing." He held up the book so that Harry could read the title: _Beauty Marks: Altering and Modifying For the Best You_.

Harry wrinkled her nose. "That's a witch's book," she pointed out.

"We know," George said complacently, plucking the book from Fred's hands.

"And most of it's utter rubbish," Fred remarked.

"But there's one passage in here that we think you'll find very useful." George lay the book down on the nearest desk and flipped through it, stopping somewhere near the end. "Here," he said, pushing the book towards Harry.

Somewhat skeptical, Harry glanced down at the page. A moment later, she pulled it closer, scrutinizing its contents closely. After a little more than a minute of silent reading, Harry let out a breath. "This…might work," she said at last, both relieved and surprised. She hadn't expected this particular problem to be solved so easily - in truth, she didn't think it _could _ be solved, unless she got someone more handy with Charms to help her out, and as good as the twins were, their specialty was pranks, not long-term glamours.

But this, _this_ had a chance of working. After all, even Professor McGonagall thought her a prodigy in Transfiguration, so it shouldn't take her too long to master partial self-transfiguration, even if _Beauty Marks_ didn't give instructions for the alterations that she planned to make. Page eighty-four of _Beauty Marks _gave tips on how to enhance ones natural assets with partial-transfiguration, but also had, in a footnote at the bottom of the page, a warning in small print: _consult your Healer for permission to use these spells. Minimum of A on N.E.W.T. recommended before usage._

Harry was twelve. At best, she had a year before she needed to be able to use partial self-transfiguration regularly.

"It will take a lot of work," she said, closing the book and handing it back to Fred, who quickly put it back in his bag, which swallowed it in a way that made her think that they had, once again, put an Undetectable Expansion Charm on it. "And I'll want better resources than that old thing."

The twins looked mildly insulted for a moment, before George's pout wavered into a more serious expression. "Practice partial transfiguration on mice - "

" - or Malfoy, we're not really picky," Fred interrupted.

" - before doing yourself," George finished advising. "Even Percy sometimes has trouble with self-transfiguration, and Charlie nearly failed his N.E.W.T. because he's pretty rubbish at it."

Harry gave them an exasperated glare. "Really," she said, "d'you think I don't know that?"

"Er…"

"But thanks for the warning, anyways." Harry flashed a grin at them before starting towards the door. Class was due to start any moment, and the other students wouldn't appreciate her waking them up from their naps if she came in too late. As she left the room, she called over her shoulder, "Nice job on Parkinson!" As she raced through the rapidly emptying corridors, she heard one of the twins - she had a hunch it was Fred - exclaim, "I knew the trick was the substitution for the mucus!"

Shaking her head, Harry rounded the corner, intent on getting to History so that she could have a full hour to work on the Potion's essay Snape had set them. No point in wasting time.

* * *

_September 2, 1992_

_Dear Alex, _

_I made it to Hogwarts okay. Even though it's a Sunday today, Oliver already has_  
_ us out practicing for Quidditch - not that I mind, of course! The Slytherin team _  
_tried to kick us off the pitch, but Neville Longbottom sent Draco Malfoy into retreat_  
_ when he declared a House Feud - not even the rest of Malfoy's team would back _  
_him up! (Malfoy recently made the Slytherin Quidditch team; most likely through _  
_bribery, because I can't see him forcing Higgs off the team by talent alone.) I'm _  
_surprised, actually, that Neville would do that - in fact, I think most of the people _  
_there, myself included, forgot that Neville has the power to declare Feuds. He's _  
_probably one of the few students here that can; the only other one I can think of_  
_ is Susan Bones. _  
_You should write Father about the new Feud; he'll want to know. _  
_Say hi to your friends for me!_

_Love,_

_Harry_


	6. Chapter 6

Tuesday started in almost the exact same way as Monday: with a nightmare that left Harry unable to fall back asleep, followed nearly two and a half hours later by Quidditch practice.

Harry spent a large portion of practice trying not to fall asleep on her broom - Oliver had the rest of the team in formation practice. Very few of the plays involved the Seeker, which left her mostly to her own devices. This particular morning, that meant alternately searching for the jinxed-green practice Snitch, yawning wide enough to make her jaw ache, and performing eye-watering dives to prevent herself from drifting off (literally, since she'd twice caught her broom moseying to the left as she slipped further into drowsiness).

It was as she was in the middle of a loop-the-loop that she saw a flapping black form rise above the Forbidden Forest. Harry's legs nearly slipped off as she jerked sloppily out of the loop. She hovered in place, watching as the unmistakable form, even from this distance, of the skeletal horse flew two large circles above the shadowy trees of the forest before disappearing back into the dark branches it had come from. She only moved from her spot when the green Snitch zoomed past her nose, distracting her enough to remind her exactly _why_ she was outside at this time in the first place.

The skeletal horse plagued her mind all morning, even through Professor Flitwick's cheerful welcome-back-to-real-life lesson. Harry and the rest of the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor class spent most of the double hour reviewing the spells learned the previous year. In the Astronomy classroom, Professor Sinistra, always a bit distracted, regaled them all with stories of her vacation to Antarctica and the different stars and constellations she'd seen there.

Immediately after Astronomy, while Hermione and Neville went down to the Greenhouses - Neville to work in Greenhouse Four and Hermione to ask Professor Sprout a few questions about mandrakes' usages in potions - Harry headed straight for the library. The large athenaeum was surprisingly busy for the second day of classes. Most of those in the library were, unsurprisingly enough, Ravenclaws, although there was a group of ten or so sixth years congregated around a table spread thick with parchment and books just outside the Potions section.

Harry ignored the carrying whisper of, "No, no, that's wrong. Snape clearly said that the alligator hearts are diced, not cubed," and continued on towards the magical creatures aisles. She plucked the first promising-looking book from the shelves - a pleasantly heavy tome titled _Elemental Equestrian Knowledge_ \- and joined an extremely tiny first-year Ravenclaw with long dirty-blonde hair at the nearest table. She gave the other girl a less-than-courteous grunt of acknowledgement, and started flipping madly through the book, pausing whenever she thought she saw something promising.

About halfway through a paragraph describing the symptoms of magical ear mites and a charm to get rid of them, she gave a snort of disgust, and closed the book with a decisive _snap_. The Ravenclaw made a sympathetic noise, but Harry was already walking back down the rows, so any other words were lost. She came back with a stack of three very large books - _Common Magical Creatures of Great Britain and Ireland_, _Horses, Horses, Everywhere_, and _A Guide to Part-Equestrian Animals_ \- to find that the Ravenclaw had vanished. Harry didn't mind (in fact, she was rather glad for a table to herself) and spread out the books. All three were worthless: the first was simply an archaic version of Newt Scamander's _Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them_, the second was an account of a woman's delusions after a bad pot of tea, and the last was so out-of-date that it included an entire chapter on the barbarity and animalistic tendencies of centaurs (who had had their own liaison office available for use in the Ministry of Magic for at least a hundred years). Nowhere did she find even a reference to a black, skeletal, demonic-looking horse with wings.

Harry would have spent even longer searching in the library, but the bell and her growling stomach reminded her that it was lunchtime, so she abandoned the library for a later date.

* * *

By Friday, Harry was finally exhausted enough - in both body and mind - to fall back to sleep after her usual nightmare. The professors had only given them a single day of 'easy' work before launching right into new topics. Even Lockhart's classes were more difficult, if only because he took to reenacting his various escapades. Harry made a habit of sitting at the very back of the Defense classroom with Ron, Seamus, and Dean, leaving poor Neville, in his customary seat beside Hermione, to suffer in the roles that Lockhart gave him.

Professor McGonagall, after the second Transfiguration lesson (Harry's last class before lunch on Thursday), held Harry back for a few moments to speak with her.

"Mr. Potter," she said in her usual clipped tones, "I can only assume that you have been studying that book I passed to you last year."

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied, eagerly digging _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy_ out of her bookbag, where she had carefully put it that very morning, just in case. "I've gotten through chapter six on my own, but I still have some questions about chapters four and five."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "I expected as much, but we'll have to find some other time to discuss this. I have another class in just a few moments, and I cannot trust the Weasley twins unsupervised with a snail, let alone a box of mice." Harry couldn't suppress her grin of amusement, but Professor McGonagall only gave her an almost indulgent sort of twitch of the corner of her mouth. "We should have worked through those chapters last year," the Scottish woman said, "but unfortunately, I wasn't quite myself at the time."

Harry hesitated. "My schedule is a bit full," she said, and Professor McGonagall nodded knowingly.

"Mr. Wood took the lack of a Quidditch final in June rather harder than I had foreseen," she said mildly. "I expect he is putting the team through its paces?"

"Er. Rather," Harry replied, a little uncertain.

Professor McGonagall cleared up Harry's confusion with a grim smile. "That is excellent news. I myself was Quidditch announcer here at Hogwarts for six years as a student, and I have followed the game closely over the years. Why, only the other day, Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me that Slytherin has held the Quidditch Cup for the past six years."

"Er. Right." Harry wasn't sure what Professor McGonagall was hinting at, unless it was that she _really_ wanted Gryffindor to win.

"Next Wednesday, at lunchtime, and every Wednesday following that unless I say otherwise," Professor McGonagall said as she shooed Harry out of the room. "Don't be late!"

* * *

Time seemed to blur together after that first week. Quidditch and homework took over Harry's life at an alarming rate. It was rare that she was found anywhere except the Quidditch pitch, her customary table in the common room, or the library when she wasn't in class. Even Hermione was starting to look worried at the appearance of the black smudges of exhaustion under Harry's eyes.

"Maybe you should take a break, and go to bed early," Hermione suggested only a week later as Harry struggled to reread chapter five of _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy_. Professor McGonagall had been no less driven in her pace with Harry alone than she was with her classes at large. The two of them had worked through the first three chapters of spellwork, and Harry had ended up expending so much energy and concentration that she had joined Neville in napping during their History of Magic class later that day. Even that nap hadn't helped, and she had nearly been unseated at Quidditch training - different than Quidditch practice in that all the players flew with weighted bracelets around their wrists and ankles, presumably to build strength.

Harry had been tasked by Professor McGonagall to finish reading and to fully comprehend chapters four and five by the next lesson, and she was determined to do so. Not only was Transfiguration her hands-down favorite class now that Professor McGonagall was her normal self again, but working ahead with _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy _might just be her ticket to learning partial self-transfiguration by the start of her third year.

So instead of agreeing with Hermione - and going to bed early sounded ridiculously good just now - Harry shook her head. "No, I can't. I've got to finish this for Professor McGonagall."

Hermione hesitated before venturing, "You can always do it tomorrow morning."

Harry leveled Hermione with an exasperated look. "You know my schedule better than I do," she said dryly. "D'you really think I'll have time to do this tomorrow morning?"

"Well…" Hermione started, and then finished in a rush, "you can do it if you can't get back to sleep after your nightmares."

Harry froze, not meeting her friends' eyes. Hermione was an incredibly loyal friend, and probably more intelligent than most Ravenclaws, but sometimes she was far too perceptive.

"I think I'll go to bed now," Harry said, and without once glancing towards her now-quiet friend, she packed her bag and raced up the stairs. She greeted Neville, reading _A Standard Book of Spells: Grade Two_ on his bed, and clambered onto her four-poster, pulling the curtains closed behind herself, with no intentions of going to bed anytime soon. Eventually, though, long after Seamus, Dean, and Ron had come upstairs and gone to sleep, Harry couldn't stop her eyes from drifting shut, and she slipped straight into a dream - a dream that, for once, didn't involve charred flesh and rivers of blood and sunlight.

Instead, she was flying above Diagon Alley, alone until the King pulled up next to her, riding one of the skeletal black horses. "Look," the King said, gesturing down towards all of the witches and wizards milling about in the Alleys below them. "So few of them see what is truly there to be seen." Dream-Harry frowned and peered closer, while some trickle of apprehension from the more-aware parts of her brain tickled at her consciousness from her dream-self's proximity to and seemingly blasé acceptance of the creepy winged horse.

With great effort, Harry latched onto that apprehension using the Occlumency techniques she'd picked up from the book Cedric had sent her. It wasn't often that she had a chance to use what little she'd learned, but now she was glad that she had. It wasn't difficult to see that this dream would most likely be one that rapidly degraded into one of her nightmares, judging by the stumbling figure in a purple turban that had just entered the main alley. "This isn't real," she said firmly, whether to herself or to the King, she wasn't sure.

"Keep telling yourself that, boy," the King said. "Maybe one day you'll be able to see for yourself." And then the dream was _shoved_ away, into the small box that Harry visualized for it. She woke up panting and sweating from the effort, but fell back into a dreamless sleep hardly a minute later, smiling at her success.

When she was shaken awake by a somewhat surprised Oliver later in the morning, Harry didn't remember the dream or her ability to chase it away before it became a nightmare.

* * *

September faded into October in great gusts of wind. Even Ryan, one of the burlier boys on the Quidditch team, sometimes had difficulty staying on track when the wind blew, which meant that Harry, as the smallest person on the pitch (aside from Colin, but he didn't count since he sat down in the safety of the stands) was often sent tumbling through the air like an out-of-control puppet. Oliver was no help - he just yelled at her to, "Keep it together, Potter!" - whilst down below Harry could hear the now-familiar _click_ing of Colin's camera.

A week and a half before Halloween, Harry had reached the end of her tether: she was tired, cold, behind on homework, and couldn't even manage to fly in a straight line. Her frustration was so great that she didn't even bother storing her broom back in the Gryffindor locker room; instead, Harry flew to the nearest open window in the castle, which let her in very close to the fourth-floor picture gallery.

"What are _you_ looking at?" she snapped at the rather sour-looking portrait of a witch.

"You interrupted my daily ruminations," the portrait sniffed.

"Well, don't let me hold you up," Harry snarked. "It's not like you've got the rest of eternity to do it." She left before the portrait could do anything other than stutter incoherently at her rudeness.

Fuming and wishing for something else to take out her anger on, Harry uttered a short cry and kicked the wall, only to come away from the encounter cursing and hopping on one foot.

"You all right?" a timid voice asked.

Harry spun around, nearly tipping over and ending up having to use the handle of her Nimbus to prop herself up. The speaker was little Ginny Weasley and two of her friends, the taller of whom wore Hufflepuff colors. The Hufflepuff and the Ginny's Gryffindor friend were both eyeing Harry warily, and she found that she couldn't really blame them. They'd doubtlessly heard the rumors about the troll and the sleeping epidemic, and her recent violence and swearing couldn't have helped much.

"Fine," Harry said stiffly. "I'm just fine."

Ginny leveled her with a bold look of disbelief. "You're a worse liar than all my brother combined," she said sniffily.

"Given that Fred and George are the best liars I've ever met, I'll take that as a compliment."

Harry was surprised when Ginny gave her a victorious grin. "See?" she said pointedly. "You're feeling better already."

Harry sighed and gingerly eased her weight back onto her still-throbbing toes. "Sorry," she apologized lamely. "It's just - Oliver - I mean, Captain Wood - is a demon right now, it's like he doesn't have any homework at all! And I can't even _fly_, it's so windy!"

"You need a break," the Hufflepuff spoke up unexpectedly. All three of the Gryffindors turned to stare at her, and the stringy girl blushed. "I mean - my mum always says that when you get too stressed you should relax a bit."

"I haven't got _time_ to relax," Harry explained impatiently. "And Quidditch is supposed to be relaxing, anyways."

"Not with Oliver Wood on the pitch," Ginny said.

While the other first years looked at their friend in surprise, Harry thought she knew what was going on. "Was it the twins or Charlie?" she asked.

"Both," Ginny responded. "Even when Charlie was Captain, Wood tended to be a little over-enthusiastic."

Harry snorted. "That's one word for it. I've got about ten others that aren't half so flattering."

There was a moment of silence, and then Ginny suggested, "Why don't you have a pick-up game, like you did at the end of last year. Ron was thrilled that he got to play - he wouldn't shut up about it, actually," she added in an annoyed tone of voice.

Harry hesitated, an image of the stack of homework she had yet to complete coming into her mind's eye. And that wasn't even counting the reading and practice she had to do for her extra Transfiguration lessons. "Maybe another time," she said with a regretful sigh. "I've got too much homework right now."

"Suit yourself," Ginny said with a careless toss of her hair. "Come on," she added to her friends. "Charms Club starts in five minutes - we can make it if we hurry."

Harry watched as the three younger girls bustled away and around the corner. _Is that what my life could've been like?_ she wondered, staring at the empty corridor. _Would it have been so…simple?_

_No_, a voice that was disturbingly similar to Alex's sounded from a corner of her mind. _Not simple: boring_. A look of fierce determination crawled over her features, and Harry shouldered her broom more firmly. _I _will_ make this work_, she promised herself as she set off for Gryffindor tower and the stack of homework awaiting her there. _I _will_ become a professional Quidditch player._

Her promise to herself was the only thing that got Harry through the next few days. Oliver hadn't taken kindly to her abandoning the pitch in the middle of practice, and he grounded her for the next three practices, forcing her to work through grueling strengthening exercises while the rest of the team went about their regular drills. The other members of the team grumbled a bit about her being grounded but didn't dare say much more than, "Ease up, Ollie, he's just a second year." They didn't want to join her on the ground. _And in any case_, Harry found herself reasoning as she did her tenth set of push-ups, _if anyone has a right to complain, it's Ryan and Zakir. They're in their O.W.L. year, and they haven't complained _once_ about too much homework_.

When she was finally allowed back on her broom, Harry forced herself to grit her teeth whenever a gust of wind blew her off track, and by Halloween, she'd worked out a way to use the extra speed in her favor.

* * *

Like the year before, Halloween dawned with a bevy of intoxicating smells drifting from the kitchens throughout the rest of the castle. Even though it was a Saturday, and a Hogsmeade weekend to boot, Oliver had them out on the pitch at the same early hour. Their match against Slytherin was in exactly one week, and he was determined that they would be ready to send them off the field in crushing defeat.

By the time Oliver was satisfied with their performance, it was nearly nine o'clock and the Ravenclaw team was just emerging from their changing rooms, ready to take over the field.

"That's it for today!" Oliver called out. Harry did one last loop-the-loop before signaling to Ravenclaw's new Seeker, a third year by the name of Eddie Carmichael, that the Snitch was still in play; although she'd caught it several times during practice, it was now being stubbornly elusive and she hadn't seen even a glimmer of gold for the past half hour.

Aidan was the first person changed, although Fred and George weren't too far behind. As a third year, it was Aidan's first chance to visit Hogsmeade, and his friends had kindly waited behind for him to join them. Harry didn't ask why Fred and George were so eager to get to the magical village - partly because she knew they needed to visit Zonko's, and partly because she didn't really _want_ to know what they were going to do with the things they bought.

Instead, she walked with Ryan and Zakir - both of whom had a Runes project due Tuesday - to the Great Hall, where she easily spotted Hermione and Neville seated together, finishing their breakfasts.

"There you are," Hermione greeted her. "We were wondering what had taken you so long."

"Oliver kept us on the field right up until the Ravenclaws came out," Harry explained, heaping bacon on her toast.

"Where's Fred and George?" Neville asked, his plate clean except for a few specks of scrambled egg.

"They left for the village," Harry said, but it came out somewhat garbled since she'd spoken around a mouthful of toast and bacon. Hermione frowned at her bad manners. "Sorry," Harry apologized after swallowing. "So what do you two have planned for today?" Sometimes, it felt like she and her friends were on different planets; her own life revolved so totally around Quidditch and her extra Transfiguration lessons that she hardly knew what her two best friends did in their spare time.

Their answers, though, were predictable.

"I'm going to the library to see if I can find a copy of _Treatise on Yeti and Their Natural Behavior_." Harry smothered a grin. While Hermione had taken Lockhart's inability to deal with pixies as a bad case of 'first-day nerves', his following lessons had so affronted her that she had taken to nitpicking their professor's books, trying to find inconsistencies. So far, she'd only gone through _Travels with Trolls_, as she had some first-hand experience with the creatures.

"Professor Sprout invited me to help her with the mandrakes," Neville said softly, a small blush rising to his cheeks. "I don't know why she asked me - she must have older students who have more experience."

"More experience doesn't necessarily mean better suited," Hermione said, like she was quoting someone.

"Plus," Harry added, "you're the best person in the whole school at Herbology. Besides Professor Sprout," she tacked on as an afterthought.

Neville's blush deepened until his face was redder than a Weasley's hair.

Harry ended up joining Hermione in the library, although they didn't speak much. Hermione occasionally made noises of irritation - Harry surmised that her friend wasn't having much luck in her quest to catch Lockhart making a mistake (she hadn't yet begun to compare dates) - but Harry easily ignored them as she concentrated instead on her built-up stack of work. Most of it was from classes she didn't mind - like Charms, Herbology, and Transfiguration - but there were also essays for Professor Snape and Professor Binns, and a farce of an essay for Lockhart.

By the time Neville joined them, dirty and sweaty but with a relaxed smile on his face, Harry had finished nearly everything except the essay for History of Magic and a few diagrams for Professors Flitwick and Sprout.

"How was it?" Harry asked, packing up her things. They had about an hour until dinner, and she needed to practice her spellwork for both Charms and Transfiguration, which she wouldn't be able to do in the library. After the twins' burning of her birth announcement at the beginning of last year, the magic ban had been extended from the corridors to the library. Only professors, prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, and Madam Pince were allowed to use magic in the library.

"Really great," Neville enthused, bringing out a roll of parchment and opening it to show to them. "Look, I got to make sketches of the various stages - see, here's the seedling and here's the mature adult form, just about to reproduce. And here's a seedling the same age as the other, but it was given more centaur tears so it's bigger! And more dangerous, but that's an advantage!"

Harry nodded along to Neville's words. Even though most of the students - and even most Gryffindors - thought the slightly pudgy boy was useless, she knew that he was actually quite intelligent. He just didn't get along with his wand. Harry had been privy to more of his wand's malfunctions than most because she shared a room with him, and when she'd asked, he'd said that the wand used to be his father's. For a quick moment when he'd told her, she'd been jealous: she would have at least liked to try her mother's wand, just to see if, maybe, it would work for her. But then she realized that, even if Lily's wand had worked, it still probably wouldn't have ever been as good as her wand was.

"Your drawings are getting better, Neville," Harry complimented.

Neville grinned, his entire face lighting up. "You think? Gran wasn't happy when I asked her for lessons. She doesn't think Herbology is a very suitable subject for the Longbottom Scion." His happiness had faded somewhat, but Harry shook her head.

"That's just stupid. Alex wants to be a Curse Breaker; at least if you're a Herbologist you'll be able to participate in politics. Alex'll probably have me do it until he's too disfigured to see straight, and even then he'll try to avoid it." She made a face at her History of Magic essay.

After a slight pause, Hermione spoke. "Herbology is a very important subject," she said, and Harry thought she sounded slightly affronted that anyone - even a witch more than six times her age - could think otherwise.

"Gran would probably agree with just about anything you say right now," Neville confided, rolling up his scroll in a surprisingly business-like manner. "She's been looking for a reason to declare Feud on the Malfoys for nearly forty years."

Harry, glad for a reason to be distracted, asked, "Why?"

Neville looked a little ashamed when he answered, "Sorry, it's a family matter."

"Oh. Right." Harry shrugged and returned to searching her latest paragraph for any mistakes. Even though she herself didn't know much about how the old traditions worked, she wasn't clueless enough to try and pry. James hadn't taught her or Alex about politics, and Remus had only had enough time with them to explain simple things like shaking hands and bowing (or in Harry's case, curtsying) before he'd been banished from the property. Matilda and Tiber had instilled a small amount of knowledge, but, as house elves, they didn't know much either.

The matter was dropped, and with a quiet goodbye to her friends, Harry left the library.

She'd only just gotten the hang of elementary conjuring - it was with great relief and excitement that she'd produced an extremely fragile and very lopsided glass orb - when a confused-looking George stopped by the windowsill she'd claimed.

"You haven't seen Fred, have you?" he asked, looking uncharacteristically concerned.

"What - isn't he with you?" she asked, reluctantly lowering her wand.

"Er. I met one of my friends in Hogsmeade." He seemed unusually flustered, and Harry grinned when she spotted a red mark on his neck.

"I bet he didn't want to watch as you and your girlfriend snogged. Especially with a little souvenir like that left behind." His hand seemed to move of its own accord as it flew up to his neck, and a sheepish look overcame him.

"Whoops." A quick prod with his wand made it so that it looked as if the mark had never been there. "Can't have Percy seeing," was the explanation. "He'd write Mum."

"Don't worry about Fred," Harry said, giving up on any more practice. There was only about half an hour left until the start of the feast anyways, and she still needed to take a shower. "He probably went ahead to - oh, I don't know - poke around wherever you two are planning to execute your next prank."

"But we always do that together." George seemed genuinely confused.

"Well, you two best not do _everything_ together," Harry remarked wryly. "Or you'll have to start snogging together too."

Her comment didn't get the reaction she was looking for; instead of becoming irritated, a pensive look came over George's face.

"Oh, yech!" Harry scrambled off the window seat. "Don't - just don't say a word! I'm going to fumigate my mind with soap!" With one last disgusted noise, Harry took the stairs up to her dorm two at a time, too fast to miss George's quiet, "Ange isn't his type, anyways."

* * *

Sept. 5, 1992  
Harry -  
Thanks for your letter. I'm sorry for arguing - you'll be perfectly safe at Hogwarts. Say hi  
to Ron for me, will you, and remind him that he owes me a chess match.  
Classes over here are going fine. Rémi and Jonah and Simon all are really fascinated by  
Remus' totem. Did you show yours to your friends too?  
\- Alex

* * *

_Sept. 18, 1992_  
_Dear Alex,_  
_Like with you, I have to start off my letter with an apology. A lot has happened so far, _  
_even though it's hardly been two weeks since I last wrote. For one, that Lockhart bloke _  
_from Flourish and Blotts is an utterly ridiculous professor. I haven't learned anything at _  
_all from him - he just goes over the more dramatic passages of his books! The class is, _  
_quite frankly, a massive waste of time, unless you happen to enjoy watching students get_  
_ dragged to the front of the classroom to embarrass themselves. Unfortunately, he's _  
_never picked a Slytherin. Probably he knows that they'll just refuse._  
_The Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match will take place on Nov. 8, and I'll owl you to tell you how_  
_ it goes, even though I know you're probably not very interested. I'll be extra hard on Malfoy_  
_ for his comment about Hermione. And even though Quidditch has been taking up nearly all _  
_of my free time, but I've had enough extra time to get extra Transfiguration lessons from _  
_McGonagall. Once I finish catching up on what we should have covered last year, I get to _  
_start in on Vanishing, and then Conjuring!_  
_Oh, and when I let my friends use my totem, you should have seen how fascinated Hermione _  
_was, even though she was a bit pale afterwards. I don't think she likes heights. Give my best_  
_ to your friends, and study your Transfiguration. I don't want to have to tutor you all summer.  
Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_Oct. 9, 1992_  
_Dear Remus,_  
_It's very refreshing to be back at Hogwarts, especially since your letters will be able to reach me_  
_ properly. Classes are going quite well so far, especially Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall is_  
_ giving me advanced lessons once a week - I've just started to read about Vanishing, and should_  
_ be able to move past theory in a couple of days. Snape is being suspiciously - well, not nice, but_  
_certainly not as nasty as he was for most of last year. The rest of my professors are just the _  
_same as always. As I'm sure you already know, Gilderoy Lockhart is the new Defense Against the_  
_ Dark Arts professor. Have you heard of him? In any case, he's not doing a very good job of _  
_teaching. The only thing I've really learned is how not to attract his attention and that 'Peskipiksi _  
_Pesternomi' does absolutely nothing for repelling Cornish Pixies. If I'd brought one to the lesson,_  
_I would've set off a dungbomb - it probably would've worked better._  
_Thank you again for the eagle totem. I shared it with my friends, and they were - for the most _  
_part - fascinated, although for different reasons, I think. How are you? Have you traveled anywhere_  
_ lately? I've got to go - Oliver's going to be coming down in just a moment to herd us all down to _  
_the pitch!_  
_Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

Oct. 14, 1992  
Dear Harry,  
Thank you for your letter - I know how hard it is to find time to write at Hogwarts. Your father often  
received Howlers from his mother when he forgot to write home for too long.  
Straight to business: I do know Gilderoy Lockhart, and not just from his books (although I've never  
actually read one). He was a first year when I was entering my fifth year, so I didn't pay much  
attention to him until the next year. He was also a Ravenclaw, so I didn't need to really know him that  
much. The only reason I remember him is because he carved his name into the Quidditch Pitch in  
20-foot long letters; James and Sirius were furious since Quidditch was canceled for an entire week.  
The bottom line about Lockhart is that he'll do just about anything for attention; if you don't want to  
be used as a prop for him, keep your distance and don't draw attention to yourself.  
The bookstore is fine. I don't have another trip scheduled yet, but there should be one sometime at the  
beginning of December. There's usually a rise in demand around the holidays. I'll be sure to write from  
wherever I end up.  
Warm Regards,  
Remus


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: I won't have access to a computer on July 5, so the next update will be July 15. Thanks for reading!

* * *

When Harry entered her room after emerging from the showers, she found all four of her roommates already there. Neville was quietly tending his collection of plants - now expanded from his bedside table to the windowsill between their two beds - while the other three were anticipating the feast waiting for them below.

" - it's not like the Christmas feast last year wasn't _good_," Ron was saying as Harry started to pull on her socks. "It's just that there's something about the Halloween Feast that's _better_. The dessert selection, I think, and some of the soups and breads and…" He trailed off with a sigh.

"Fred and George said something similar last year," Harry chimed in. "I think. My memory of the actual feast is a bit foggy, what with the troll afterwards."

"Think this year will be as exciting?" Seamus asked eagerly.

"I hope not," Harry muttered, shoving her feet into her shoes. "You ready, Neville?" she asked a bit louder.

"Wha - oh, yeah." Neville gave the plant he was working on one last prod with his wand, and together the two of them filed down the stairs and into the Common Room, where Hermione was already waiting for them.

"There you two are," she said. "I've been waiting." Harry thought her friend looked a little flushed.

"Are you alright?" she asked as they exited through the portrait hole.

"Yes, I'm just - " Hermione hesitated, and then barreled on. "Just don't let me leave the feast for any reason, all right?"

Somewhat amused - there was no _way_ another troll would be getting in - Harry nodded. "Sounds fair." The matter was dropped, and the rest of the walk down to the Great Hall was filled with mindless chatter about what they were most looking forwards to eating. Ginny Weasley and her two friends joined up with them just before the marble staircase, and the six of them entered the Great Hall together.

"See you in a bit!" Ginny called out to her Hufflepuff friend as they split to go to their House tables, but Harry wasn't paying the first years much attention.

"Where's George?" she asked, her eyes glued on the single twin seated next to Lee Jordan.

"Are you sure that's Fred?" Neville asked dryly.

Harry spared him an appreciative glance for his humor. "Quite. I saw George just before I got into the shower, and he was wearing a red shirt." The twin at the Gryffindor table was wearing yellow, and so by default had to be Fred. Even Harry, who'd spent a large portion of last year sneaking around the castle with the twins, couldn't tell the two apart from such a large distance. "Let's ask." She sped up her pace, Hermione and Neville making noises of irritation as they tried to keep up. Even though she was shorter than either of them, she could move quite fast when she wanted to.

"Hey, Fred, where's George?" she asked as she plopped herself down across from Fred and Lee.

"With Angelina, isn't he? Why?" Fred seemed unconcerned that his twin wasn't there, and more interested in what Harry needed from him.

"No, he's not." Harry nodded her head down the table. "Angelina's just there, with Katie and Oliver and Alicia."

"Where is he, then?" Fred asked.

"I just asked you," Harry pointed out, before relenting and saying, "I saw him just half an hour ago. He was asking about you and I said that you were scouting for your next job."

"Without him?" Lee asked, clearly surprised.

"He was with Angelina!" Fred exclaimed. "I didn't want to get in their way!" There was an awkward silence.

"Well," Hermione said, and Harry could tell that her friend was forcing herself to sound cheerful. "I'm sure he'll turn up once he doesn't find you," she addressed Fred.

"He better," Fred muttered, glancing towards the doors. "I found a great place to set up our new jinx."

George didn't show up. For the first ten minutes or so, it was easy to pass off his absence as a joke - especially since doing so made those who overheard their increasingly outrageous descriptions of what he might be doing so obviously nervous. But by the time the desserts appeared on the golden platters, all five of them were worried, and even Percy and Ron had commented on George's absence (although Ron thought it was Fred who was gone, not George; none of them saw fit to correct him).

"But where could he _be_?" Hermione asked for what must have been the hundredth time. Only Lee could find it in himself to eat his dessert; the rest of their plates lay untouched; even the temptation of treacle tart, one of Harry's very favorite desserts, couldn't get the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach to lift.

"I'm sure he's fine," she repeated, as she had whenever Hermione voiced her concern. But it sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

"As soon as we're excused, I'm getting out the Map," George muttered, glowering. "And I'll hex his food for the next week if he hasn't done something worthwhile." He stabbed his chocolate gateau viciously with his fork, mashing it even further than it already was after fifteen minutes of his increasingly worried attentions.

"Do you really think he's alright?" Neville asked in a whisper. His ice cream had melted, leaving his slice of apple pie in a puddle of white cream and sugar.

Harry's throat was too choked up for her to reply beyond an odd shrugging motion. On one hand, it was _George_ \- there was no _way_ he would be anything but laughing and smirking at them for worrying. But a small niggling doubt had grown throughout the meal, and was now a full-blown Bludger sitting heavily somewhere around her liver: a troll had gotten into the castle last Halloween. What if something _worse_ got in this year? Her mind flashed back to that voice she'd heard on the very first day of class.

_No_, she told herself firmly. _I was hallucinating from lack of sleep, that's all it was. I haven't heard anything like it since then_. But all the same she strained her ears for any trace of that blood-chilling whisper. Only the normal sounds of the Great Hall in the throes of a feast met her ears, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Finally, after what seemed like far too long, the desserts melted back into their platters, leaving the tables impossibly clean.

"To each and every one of you, I wish you a most relaxing evening!" Professor Dumbledore announced. "For those of you fifth year and up, you have the option of lingering in the Great Hall for a while longer. Our resident ghosts have consented to do a bit of formation flying, and I believe that the Headless Hunt is also in residence for a short while, at our very own Sir Mimsy-Porpington's invitation. And I do believe that is all I have to say, unless one of our esteemed professors has something to add?" Dumbledore looked to the rest of the staff, none of whom seemed particularly interested in saying anything more, and, in fact, looked rather eager to leave the Great Hall themselves. "No? Well, off you scoot!"

The entirety of the first through fourth year students stood, as did most of the upper years. Only a group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and one or two Slytherins, stayed.

"Ooh, I wish second years could stay, too," Hermione said as they made to join the funneling crowd of students. Before Hermione could elaborate, Harry's arm was caught and she was tugged to the side.

"This way," Fred said, leading Harry, Hermione, and Neville away from the stagnating crowd of students and towards a small door just to the left of the staff table.

"Are we allowed - ?" Hermione began, but Harry cut her off.

"It's just a door, Hermione. If it was out of bounds, Dumbledore would've told us."

"Or it would be hidden," Lee added, joining their small procession. "Come on." He opened the door, holding it for them as they went past. The room beyond was narrow, but long, with an unlit fireplace set into the closest end, and a door halfway down the room.

Fred confidently led them past a few surprised portraits and through the door. Harry tried to pay attention to where they were going, but she was more worried about George and couldn't concentrate.

The narrow corridor beyond led to an out-of-the-way hall that looked like it had once been used for small parties, which let out (through a pair of intricately carved wooden doors) to a corridor entirely unfamiliar to Harry.

"Where are we?" she asked, glancing around as the door swung silently shut behind Neville.

"Ground floor, somewhere near where the old chapel used to be," Fred rattled off, still striding at a rapid clip through the castle, the others trailing along after him. Harry looked around with interest. The walls, although liberally decorated with both paintings and hangings, looked far older than the stone walls that were in most of the rest of the castle. Even down in the Slytherin dungeons the stones weren't so discolored - and that wasn't even accounting for the dismal lighting. They were obviously in a very, very old part of Hogwarts - a part that Harry had never ventured through before, likely because nothing ever happened there.

"Up here," Fred said from ahead of her, pulling back a partially moth-eaten wall-hanging to reveal a narrow staircase.

"Honestly," Harry heard Hermione mutter. "How many secret staircases are there!?"

"You mean you don't know?" Harry asked quietly in mock surprise.

"_Hogwarts, A History_ only covers the castle main and staircases wide enough to fit three students abreast," Hermione responded, a little testily. "It's in the footnotes." After a silent minute of climbing up the narrow, dark stairs, she added, a bit breathlessly, "And it was last updated thirty years ago."

"Well, I don't think this staircase was added since then," Lee chimed in from just ahead of Hermione.

"It was on the Map, so it's been here at least since the Marauder's time," Fred informed them, but his voice wasn't as cheerful as usual, and Harry wasn't at all surprised when he added, "Let's pick up the pace, shall we?"

When they came out of the staircase (through a stretch of seemingly solid wall on the second floor) Harry and Fred were the only two not winded. Neville's face was bright red, and Hermione had spots of color high on her cheeks. Lee's skin was dark enough to hide a flush, but his mouth was open and he was panting from the speed at which they had climbed.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, a fist pressed into her abdomen, most likely to try to assuage a stitch.

"Near Moaning Myrtle's loo," Harry answered, the statue of an unassuming-looking witch carrying a stack of books and a basket of mushrooms, standing in the middle of a ring of carved toadstools, having clued her in to where they were. Fred and George had told her that knowing where certain pieces of artwork were located in the castle was an easy way to never get lost, and their advice hadn't failed her yet.

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked. "You're a boy!"

"I've heard of Moaning Myrtle," Neville offered, able to stand up straight again even though his face was still red. "Gran was here when she took over the loo. Said she was just awful."

"Well," Hermione said, "Don't say that to Myrtle. She'll start crying."

"Isn't she always?" Lee drawled

"Enough," Fred cut in before Hermione could respond. "George should be just around here." He started to move again, towards the intersection that would take them to Myrtle's bathroom; Harry and the others followed, Neville and Lee falling back to compare gossip. "This is a somewhat well-traveled part of the school, so George and I are going to - " He cut off abruptly as he rounded the corner, and when Harry glanced over at him at the sudden break, she saw that his face had gone completely white, and he was staring ahead as if frozen.

"Oh," Hermione uttered softly, and Harry finally looked down the corridor. At first, she saw nothing amiss - it was empty, completely devoid of anyone and anything - but then she saw a giant puddle of water, completely still and reflecting the ceiling and the wall adjoining the door from whence the water came from.

She squinted at the reflection of the wall, and read, slowly, "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Mudbloods and blood-traitors, beware." Harry frowned. The Chamber of Secrets was a legend - and only that. _Hogwarts, A History_ had briefly described the story, and had mentioned that centuries worth of Headmasters and Headmistresses had searched for the fabled room, but found nothing. "This is just someone's idea of a bad joke," she said lightly. "I mean, come on, the Chamber of Secrets?! They've got to be barmy!" She looked to her friends for support, but found them all staring at the same spot. A trickle of trepidation crept down her spine, and, slowly, she followed their line of sight.

A body hung, upside down, from the arch just beyond the far rim of the puddle. The robes hung down over the person's head, but Harry didn't need to see a face to know who it was; the blue jumper with a large yellow 'G' in the center and the hem of a red shirt sticking out from beneath told her everything she needed to know.

"Is that…?" she asked pointlessly.

No one got a chance to answer her question; footsteps and loud chattering met her ears moments before a large group of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors rounded the corner at the opposite end of the hallway, headed for the three-way intersection that led to the shortest (although not quickest) route to the uppermost levels. Silence spread slowly through the students, starting at the front and heading on back, until a whey-faced Percy Weasley pushed his way through the immobile crowd.

"George?" He sounded lost and unsure, as if he didn't know whether or not George was only playing a prank. Inanely, Harry wondered if Percy really knew it was George, or if he was only guessing. Half the time, the twins wore each other's jumpers, just to get people mixed up.

A Ravenclaw girl with curly blonde hair and a Prefect's badge pinned to the front of her robes joined Percy at the front of the crowd, looking just as shaken as her fellow Prefect. "Montgomery, go find a professor; Headmaster Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall would be best. Eliot, Tegan, take everyone up to the dorms." When no one moved, the girl snapped, "_Now_!" with such force that the Prefects she'd called out nearly scrambled to get the students moving. By the time the hall had cleared, only Ron and Ginny had stayed behind, their faces as pale as their brother's but stubborn none-the-less. The message was clear: they wouldn't be moving until they'd found out what had happened to George.

"What happened?" Ron asked shakily. Ginny's arms were wrapped about her chest, as if she could hold herself together, and she hadn't stopped staring up at George's hanging body.

Percy didn't answer, and neither did Fred. When Harry looked over at him, she saw that he was still staring at his twin's body, much like Ginny, but his face completely devoid of emotion, as if he still couldn't believe what he was he was seeing. Harry couldn't blame him. She was having trouble getting her mind around the idea herself.

"Come on," she said quietly, taking Fred's hand and guiding him the short distance down the hall towards Percy, Ginny, Ron, and the Ravenclaw Prefect. They skirted the puddle of water; Harry didn't want to step in it, although she didn't know why. "Sit," she commanded once they'd joined with the rest of his family.

She ended up having to push him to the ground. Only then did he stop staring upwards as he drew his knees up and leaned his elbows on them, hiding his face. "Take him down," he said, his voice muffled and hoarse and not at all sounding like his own. "Please?" His voice caught on what was unmistakably a sob.

Harry went to draw her wand, but Hermione beat her to it. She, Neville, and Lee had followed Harry and Fred. Neville looked worse than any of the Weasley's as he too sank to the ground, his back against the wall. Unlike the others, he wasn't looking at George; instead, he was reading and rereading the message on the wall. Harry could tell because he was mouthing the words as he read them.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, a hitch in her voice, a few minutes later. "I can't."

Harry sat down next to Fred, trying not to look at anything in particular. If she looked back at George's body, she felt like she wouldn't ever be able to look away.

"Let me try." Somehow, the Ravenclaw Prefect sounded brisk and businesslike, and Harry found herself both respecting the girl for it, and hating her. But the Ravenclaw had no more success than Hermione.

"What happened?" Percy repeated his youngest brother's words in a much higher voice than usual.

Harry glanced to Fred, but he hadn't moved. Only his shoulders rising up and down as he breathed told her that he was still alive.

"I saw George before dinner," she said slowly. Everyone's eyes turned to her, and she swallowed heavily before continuing. "He said he was going to…" she hesitated. How much would Fred blame himself? _Probably no more than he already is_, a nasty voice said in the back of her mind. "…going to look for Fred," she finished tightly. "They split up in Hogsmeade." Ginny made a strangled noise, and Harry felt her throat close up. She tried to speak, and failed.

Lee picked up the rest of the story in a deceptively calm voice. "When he didn't show up for dinner, we got worried; after, when the rest of the school left through the main doors, we took a shortcut, and ended up here just a few moments before you showed up."

_Must not have been that good of a shortcut_, the mean voice said again. Harry gave a snort that turned into a broken sob before she was able to stifle it.

"Oh my." The professors had arrived - not just McGonagall (who had spoken) and Dumbledore, but nearly the entire staff table. Only a few were missing, most notably Lockhart and Sinistra.

Professor Dumbledore quickly took charge, his normally jovial expression gone. "Filius, please remove Mr. Weasley from the ceiling. Bathsheba, your office is the closest. Would you mind?"

"Not at all, Headmaster," a professor Harry didn't recognize said respectfully in a remarkably low voice for a woman.

"Thank you." Harry felt like screaming - or maybe like laughing. How could Professor Dumbledore be so calm?! "Secondary House Heads, please make sure no other students are missing, and seal the common rooms once everyone is inside. Minerva, Severus, and Pomona will come with me. The rest of you will return to your quarters. Septima - you will be missing all of the Weasley's, as well as Mr. Jordan, Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Granger, so take that into account when you take attendance."

With a curt nod or murmurs of acceptance, the professor began to move. It took Professor Flitwick less than a minute to float George down from the ceiling.

"Please, stay back," Professor Dumbledore said calmly when Ginny tried to reach her brother. Percy folded her into his arms almost automatically.

"Is he…?" Harry wasn't aware of having asked the question, but the words came from her mouth anyways.

Dumbledore eyed her sharply. "No, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley is not dead."

"Then what's wrong with him?!" Ron burst out loudly.

"Respect the Headmaster, Mr. Weasley," Snape sneered. "One less - "

"That is _enough_." Dumbledore spoke quietly but with no less vehemence. "Severus, if you would be so kind as to lead the children to Bathsheba's office?" It wasn't a request.

"Very well," Snape said stiffly. "Come along."

It was a silent procession. Snape led the way, with the Gryffindors walking behind him. Harry had thought she might have to force Fred to walk, but he followed of his own will, although he never once looked anywhere except at his feet. She was the last student to enter the room, and barely managed to sit down before George's body preceded Professor Flitwick into the room. Only once all four Heads of House and Professor Dumbledore were inside was the door shut.

"If he's not dead, what's wrong with him?" Hermione asked shakily in a thin voice as Professor Flitwick gently lowered George's body onto the large, solid-oak desk that took up the vast majority of the space in the overcrowded room.

"I believe," Professor Dumbledore replied evenly, "That Mr. Weasley has been Petrified."

There was a moment of silence before multiple people tried to speak at once.

"What's that mean?"

"Albus - the writing - can it be true?"

"Who could've done it?"

"I've got some mandrakes."

"Bet it was a Slytherin."

Ron's comment hung awkwardly in the air, and nearly everyone turned to stare at him.

"Oh?" Professor Snape said archly. "And why is that, Mr. Weasley?" He had never sounded so poisonous.

"Er - I - "

"The Quidditch match next weekend!" Everyone turned to stare at Harry, who began to flush. "Not as a reason," she said hurriedly, although the theory did make at least a little bit of sense. "But we'll have to find a replacement Beater."

There were several incredulous expressions at her words. "I don't believe you, Harry Potter." Hermione sounded on the verge of tears, but was angrier than Harry had ever heard her. "George has been _Petrified_, and all you can think about is _Quidditch!_" Her voice had risen to a shriek, her hands were clenched in fists of outrage, and her hair had begun to escape the tight bun she'd pulled it into before the feast.

"Sorry," Harry backpedaled. "I can't seem to think straight right now."

Hermione opened her mouth, realized what Harry had said, and closed it again. "Fine," she said tightly.

"Will someone tell me what Petrified even means?" Ginny asked quietly from beside Percy.

"Petrification," Professor McGonagall said with a stony expression, "occurs when a living organism - most commonly large trees over the course of many centuries - is turned to rock. It happens very rarely in the magical world, and even less often in the mundane." Harry and the other students were watching her avidly, eager for any information they could get on George's condition, but she didn't say anything more.

"So then," Ron said slowly, "George's been made into a statue?"

"A crude but apt summary," Professor Dumbledore said heavily from the desk. He straightened up from where he'd been leaning so close to George that his nose had nearly been touching his now-straightened robes.

"Well?" Professor Snape asked pointedly. "Who did it?"

"I do not believe," Professor Dumbledore said slowly, "that it was a who. The question we should be asking is how someone has managed to open the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry exchanged a confused glance with Hermione, the one other person she knew who had read _Hogwarts, A History_. Everyone else in the room looked just as confused, with the exception of Professor McGonagall, who had an expression of mixed trepidation and something Harry realized with growing unease was dread.

No one said anything, however, until Professor McGonagall moved away from the impromtu examination table and began to usher the seven Gryffindor students out of the office. Professor Dumbledore stopped her with a few words. "The Weasley children should be led to my office, Minerva. I will inform their parents of what has happened." Professor McGonagall nodded wordlessly and began to chivvy the four standing Weasleys out the door. Harry watched them leave - from the back, Fred looked like an old man, with his hunched shoulders and shuffling gait. "Filius, if you will escort Mr. Jordan, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Potter, and Miss Granger to Gryffindor tower, that will allow Pomona and Severus to examine the mandrakes."

Harry began to move towards the door, but Professor Dumbledore spoke again. "I trust," he said seriously, "that the four of you will not speak of what has been said here to anyone, nor will you investigate the matter." His pale blue eyes dragged over them slowly, lingering even longer on Harry than the others. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the others make motions of acceptance, but she herself didn't move. "Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said sternly, eyes boring into hers. She lowered her eyes, but didn't nod. The deference appeased him, and they were dismissed.

Professor Flitwick said nothing at all on the long journey up to Gryffindor tower, and the rest of them carried the silence as well. At the portrait of the Fat Lady, the Charms professor gave an unfamiliar password in a foreign language - it sounded like Gobbledygook to Harry, which brought back bad memories of her adventure in the Lower Alleys - and watched them clamber in.

Lee led the way through the short stone passage into the common room, which was packed to bursting with the entirety of Gryffindor House, which seemed oddly empty without any of the easily-visible trademark Weasley hair. The quiet chatter that had permeated the room stopped almost immediately upon their entrance, until Professor Vector came forward.

"There you are," she said briskly. "You may stay here or go up to your dormitory; the choice is yours." With that, she tapped a large scroll of parchment with her wand, and sat back down in the large wingbacked chair she'd stationed by the passageway they'd just come through. _Keeping guard_, Harry realized.

"I'm going up," Harry muttered after eyeing the rest of Gryffindor House. She didn't much feel like being bombarded with questions.

"I'll come with you," Neville agreed, and Hermione nodded as well. Lee shrugged and dully made his way to a group of girls that included, Harry realized, a weeping Angelina Johnson.

With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she followed Neville up the staircase to the boys dormitories, not pausing as she grabbed her pajamas and retreated to the bathroom. She'd only just pulled the curtains closed around her four-poster when Seamus and Dean came in. Enclosed in the semi-darkness of her bed, she heard them pause, and imagined that they were staring at her closed curtains.

"What happened?" Dean asked Neville, walking past her bed. She closed her eyes and listened, waiting for Neville's reply. He'd never done well standing up to peer pressure.

"I - I'm n-not supposed to say," he stuttered.

"Oh, come on, we're your roommates," Seamus wheedled. "We won't tell."

There was silence in response, and Harry imagined that Neville had shaken his head. She smiled bitterly and turned over, her sheets rustling loudly.

"Fine." She didn't know if it was Seamus or Dean, but she didn't much care. _We'll all go to bed in a bad mood_, she thought spitefully.


	8. Chapter 8

Oliver vacillated between fretful and angry at Quidditch practice the next morning. Not only was George out-of-play for the foreseeable future, but Fred - and the rest of the Weasley children - had been pulled from the school for the rest of the day, which meant that they wouldn't be able to hold tryouts until Monday, which would give them only four practices before the match against Slytherin.

Harry ignored the rest of the team as she flew, performing maneuvers more dangerous than any she'd attempted before. The risky flying helped drive the image of George dangling from the ceiling from her mind, but it only lasted until practice was over. Then she did her best to keep busy, working silently with Hermione and Neville on homework in the library until dinner. She skipped the Great Hall and went down to the kitchens instead, where she ate alone.

She woke early the next morning after a scant five hours of sleep, the nightmares that hadn't bothered her since mid-September back with a vengeance with this latest material to add. After an hour of listening to Seamus' slight wheezing and the absence of Ron's grunting snores, Harry gave up on getting back to sleep and trudged to the bathroom, where she took much longer than usual under the warm spray. Oliver had moved practice to the afternoon to allow for tryouts, and she was so far caught up on homework that she was ahead in all of her subjects, even History of Magic.

Down in the common room, as she watched the sky lighten through the windows, Harry found herself drifting into a light doze. She had just begun to relax when her nightmares began to intrude, even though she wasn't fully asleep. _'Ssso hungry…blood…I need blood…'_ The voice sent chills down her spine and woke her up more effectively than a bucket of ice water dumped on her head. Gasping and looking around with wide eyes, Harry swore and returned to the dorm, pulled the curtains closed, and began to read the next chapter of _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy_, firmly telling herself all the while that it had only been part of her nightmare.

* * *

Most days, Potions wasn't anything to dread, especially since Snape had given up on tormenting Harry during lessons. But even as the Gryffindor-Slytherin class lined up in the dungeon hallway, Harry knew this one would be different. Draco Malfoy looked so smug that it should've been illegal, and the vindictive sneer on his face didn't bode well for anyone.

Sure enough, Harry, Hermione, and Neville had just joined the line when Malfoy stalked over, Crabbe and Goyle at his shoulders. "I'd watch your back if I were you," he sneered in a lofty tone, but speaking so that it was clear that he was only addressing Harry, not Neville or Hermione. Even Malfoy could learn if he was beaten thoroughly enough. " 'Bloodtraitors beware'. In fact," he added louder, backing up so that he could address the entire group of first year Gryffindors, "I wouldn't be surprised if none of you last the year!"

Harry glared at Malfoy while the rest of her year-mates murmured and shifted uneasily. Sophie Roper gave a nervous titter, while Parvati Patil merely crossed her arms and gave Malfoy an annoyed look. She didn't speak out, though, and just whispered something to Lavender, who looked frightened.

Ron, at the very back of the line, was flushed with anger, and Harry spoke before he could do anything rash. "I'll take that as a complement, Malfoy," she said coolly, "because if being a 'blood-traitor' means being a target, at least I know that I'm a decent person whose family has promoted equal rights and opposed oppression and corrupt laws." _Unlike yours_ was left unsaid, but everyone who'd grown up in the wizarding world would know what she was implying. The Malfoys, although known as 'Wise', had only barely escaping having their Lord sent to Azkaban, and had lost a fair amount of galleons in their philanthropic attempts to look respectable - not to mention that rumors of bribery in the Wizengamot nearly always included the name Malfoy.

"Inside," came Snape's smooth command before Malfoy could come up with a suitable response. But as she passed the blonde on her way to the table she, Neville, and Hermione normally worked at, he hissed at her, "See if you're still so cocky by the end of the year, Potter, when you're the only one of your little group still walking." Pansy's high-pitched snicker followed Harry to her work station, and kept ringing through her ears even as Snape began to speak.

* * *

By the time Harry found herself on the Quidditch Pitch that afternoon, she'd nearly hexed Malfoy more times than she could count. For the entirety of Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, the Malfoy Scion had muttered insults and jeers intermixed with threats, until even Hermione, who was far more patient than Harry, looked like she'd like nothing better than to jinx him into a ball of slime. It got to the point where Hermione had looked Harry straight in the eyes as they left for Herbology and said, quite seriously, "You'd better beat him at Quidditch, Harry, because I won't be able to stand it if he wins." At the time, Harry had nodded fiercely, but now, hovering above the pitch, she didn't know if she'd be able to keep her word.

There weren't very many hopefuls trying out for George's spot. Dean, Seamus, and Ron were all there, although none of them had their own brooms, as well as a few older students. One third year looked like he'd have the strength for it, but Oliver's face had gone sour when he'd first seen the boy, so Harry doubted he'd make the team.

Tryouts were relatively simple, and left Harry bored out of her mind. The prospective Beaters would each take a turn at Beating - first by themselves, and then with Fred. The problem was that Fred was Beating ferociously; so much so, in fact, that when passing the Bludger to Seamus, he knocked the other boy off his broom. Luckily, they hadn't been too far off the ground, so Seamus survived the fall with nothing more than a few grass stains and bruises to show for it.

While Dean started his solitary tryouts - with somewhat surprising skill and precision, given that he hadn't flown a broom in nearly six months and hadn't ever played Quidditch before - Harry pulled up on her broom handle and shot towards the heavy grey clouds, but jerked to a halt when a large black form came down at her, leathery wings spread wide. With a muffled scream, she ducked, just in time to avoid having one of the skeletal horse's hooves collide with her head. She watched in a state of shock as it glided down towards the Forbidden Forest, wary just in case any more of the creepy horses were hiding in the clouds with homicidal intents.

Watching the horse brought back a faint image of the King riding one - it couldn't have been a memory, so it must've been part of a dream. Either way, she knew what she was going to do as soon as tryouts were over.

* * *

In the common room later that evening, Harry wasn't the only person surprised by Oliver's choice of replacement for George. Even though he hadn't had the best solitary showing, Ron had worked best with Fred.

At a table with Hermione and Neville, Harry listened as she brought out her writing supplies. "It's not fair," Cormac McLaggen - the third year who Oliver didn't like - was complaining loudly. "Weasley's tryout was rubbish compared to mine. He only got the spot because of Wood's sympathy for his brother! Mark my words, it'll be Weasley's fault when we lose on Saturday!" Harry ground her teeth and focused on properly sharpening her quill, but his next comment was too much. "They'll be begging me to play before the week's out - I'll do so well that even if Weasley gets better he won't - "

"Shut. Up!" Harry wasn't aware she'd gotten to her feet, but she was standing and glaring with all her might at McLaggen. "George is a hundred times the Beater you could ever hope to be," she snarled, "and Ron got the spot because he worked the best with Fred, unlike someone else who nearly killed Creevey with their wild shot!"

McLaggen gulped at the venom in her voice, and it was only after Hermione pulled her back to the table and sat her down did Harry realize she hadn't been pointing her wand at McLaggen, but her penknife.

* * *

As the week dragged on, though, Harry's defense of Ron weakened. He'd done alright at tryouts, but as the game neared his nerves made him unpredictable at best, and a danger to his own team at worst. Harry was sent to the Hospital Wing two days in a row for sprained ribs after taking Bludger that might have otherwise seriously injured Aiden and Zakir. They couldn't afford to replace a Chaser as well, and they'd be taking the brunt of the damage from Slytherin during the game.

Also aggravating were Malfoy's scathing remarks about the rapidly approaching game, which were whispered across aisles in class, shouted across the Great Hall for everyone to hear, passed along on scraps of parchment, and, one horrible time, memorialized in a startlingly well-done drawing.

By Saturday, Harry was most decidedly _not_ in a good mood. Even receiving four letters in the morning post didn't cheer her up, and without George, Fred wasn't in the mood to crack any of the jokes that would have normally relaxed her - and everyone else. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was uncharacteristically glum; instead of the normal high-spirited display of game-day nerves, the changing rooms were somber and quiet, with only the rustling of fabric as the players dressed to break the oppressive silence.

"Alright, men," Oliver started. Harry noted from her spot between Ron and Fred - who were almost exactly the same height, even though Fred was two years older - that even Oliver was downtrodden, not nearly as excited as he usually was on a game day. "We're operating on a slight setback, but we've come a long ways in the past few days. Keep it together, and we'll be able to beat those scummy Slytherins back into the dungeons where they belong!" He paused, and then added weakly with a smile that looked more like a grimace, "Pun not intended." No one laughed, and he sighed. "I know - I miss George too. But even though he's out for the game, that doesn't mean we shouldn't win anyways."

After a long moment of silence, Fred spoke, one of the rare times he'd spoken all week. "For George," he said, his voice breaking on his brother's name.

"For George!" the rest of the team roared out, Harry adding her own to the deeper voices around her.

* * *

An hour later, their spirits - low as they'd been before - were flagging. As much as Ron tried, he simply wasn't George, and didn't have the same ability to seem to know exactly what Fred was doing. The first time he flubbed a hit, ten minutes into the game, the Slytherin section of the stands erupted into applause and jeers, making Ron's neck turn a dark magenta color that clashed magnificently with his hair and scarlet uniform.

"Ignore them!" Harry called out as she swooped past on her way to distract the Slytherin Chasers from where they were beginning a Parkin's Pincer on Ryan. She only had a chance because she was so much smaller than the hulking boys that made up the majority of the Slytherin Quidditch team - on their sleek Nimbus 2001's, all of them could easily speed past the Gryffindor fliers, with the exception of Harry on her Nimbus 2000. Despite her lighter weight, though, Harry wasn't able to catch up to the Slytherins in time, and winced as they all three rammed into Ryan, who cried out and dropped the Quaffle as he clamped his right arm to his chest.

"No - get the Snitch!" he called to her when she started to slow down next to him. "End this!"

With a snarl of rage - Ryan's arm was clearly broken - Harry shot upwards, scouring the pitch for any glimpse of the most elusive ball. Now that she was back to her normal scanning patterns, Malfoy resumed his tailing of her. Tailing was a very common Seeker's technique, although it was one that Harry never used because of the ease with which any opposing Seeker could lock elbows with her or knock her out of the way - even Malfoy weighed more than she did, although he was by far the smallest flier on the Slytherin team.

"Missing the ginger menace?!" Malfoy shouted from just behind her. "Oh - wait - there's one to replace it!"

Gritting her teeth to stop her from turning around and causing a foul by punching Malfoy - or maybe ramming him off his new broom - Harry faked a sighting and rolled into a steep dive. Halfway to the ground, she realized Malfoy wasn't on her tail, and when she pulled out, she saw that the blonde Seeker was bend double over his broom, wheezing, as a Bludger rocketed away.

"A solid hit by Ronald Weasley!" Lee's voice boomed out from the commentary booth, not as enthusiastic as normal.

_At least he can tell which Beater is which now_, Harry thought sardonically, climbing back into the sky but heading away from Malfoy. She searched the base of the two goal areas - the Snitch seemed to like hiding there, she'd seen it once already but Ron's flubbed Bludger had forced her to veer out of the way - but no luck. This particular Snitch seemed to be wily.

Spiraling upwards, she cast an appraising glance over the pitch. Ryan had fallen back to a sort of secondary guard on the hoops - out of the score zone, but able to act as an impediment against incoming Chasers - and Zakir and Aiden were trying their best to work a two-man team against the three Slytherin Chasers. They weren't doing well, though, and even as Harry watched, Zakir had to abandon his approach on the Slytherin goals in order to avoid a Bludger. But then Aiden came up from underneath Zakir, the Quaffle in hand, and started in on his favorite move, the Woollongong Shimmey. It wasn't his best attempt, but it worked well enough against Miles Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper.

"O'Conner scores! 110-30, Slytherin!" Lee shouted into the microphone. Harry scowled as the three Slytherin Chaser, led by Flint, streaked towards Oliver at the other end of the pitch. She needed to find the Snitch - _now_. With Ryan out of play, it would be a bloodbath, and not one in favor of the Gryffindors.

Movement over the forest caught her eye, and she scowled at the emerging thestrals - until a blur of motion passed through her line of sight. Without second thought to the soaring thestrals, she yanked her broom to the left, hard, and took off after the Snitch. Cheers rose in her wake as she sped past the Gryffindors, and then the Hufflepuffs (some of whom were wearing scarlet and gold), performing a backwards loop when the Snitch abruptly changed direction. Malfoy had realized that she really had seen the Snitch this time, and joined the chase.

"Give it up, Potter," he snarled, announcing his presence by ramming into her. Unfortunately for him, her new direction corresponded with the Snitch's erratic course, and she gained a few precious inches.

"Not on your life," she muttered, even though she knew he wouldn't be able to hear her. She wasn't going to waste her breath by shouting at him.

The Snitch leveled out a mere two feet above the pristine lawn of the pitch, although Malfoy had pulled up nearly a foot too soon. Harry grinned as she began to gain ground on the golden ball, her knees perhaps an inch above the pristine grass of the pitch - unless Malfoy had the bravery to try and dive for it, the Snitch was hers.

"Come on, come _on_," she urged her broom, flattening herself down even further. Either the enchanted wood understood her, or that small amount less air resistance worked its magic; her hand flashed forwards, leather-enclosed palm smacking into the Snitch with a satisfying sound. "YES!" she shrieked, jerking up on her broom and rising to the main playing zone, about forty feet in the air. The Gryffindor-supporters in the crowd cheered wildly, but on the pitch the players, while smiling, were quiet. They gathered in the middle of the pitch, and Harry met Oliver's eyes. He nodded.

"FOR GEORGE!" the entire team yelled together.

There was a moment of silence, and then - "FOR GEORGE!" Lee's voice was the loudest of all, since he'd shouted directly into the microphone, and, in the background, Harry swore she heard Professor McGonagall say, "Now really," in a voice that sounded more emotional than annoyed.

After escorting Ryan to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey healed his broken arm in less then ten minutes, the Gryffindor team made its way up to Gryffindor tower, where some sad semblance of a party would be held. Harry lingered slightly longer than the others, just long enough to hear Fred say to George's comatose form, "Hey, Georgie. Ron did well - never thought he'd play Beater, did we? Ah, well, here's to - "

She slipped out before she heard any more of the private one-sided conversation.

"Hiya Harry!" Colin Creevey must have followed them to the Hospital Wing, because he was beaming up at her from next to the life-sized portrait of two old men in a circular library. "That was amazing! I've never seen anything so cool! Can I get a photo of you to send to my parents?! They don't believe that photos move, or that Quidditch is actually played on brooms that _fly_, and Wood hasn't given any of the one's I took during practices back, so I took a few during the game! I got one of you right as you caught the Snitch!? Will you sign it once it's developed?!"

"Er," Harry said uncertainly. She'd never been asked to sign a photo before.

"Signing photos, now, Potty?" Malfoy was limping down the corridor between Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy Parkinson scurrying just behind them, a look of great sympathy on her face. "I here I thought your family could sink no lower - yet here you are, peddling your pitiful skills and even more pitiful looks to _muggles_."

"What's wrong?" Harry sniped back, ignoring his remarks about her family. "Defeat by my 'pitiful skills' manifesting as an injury? That's something I've never heard of before."

"And since when are you resident Healer?" Pansy asked pointedly, the sympathy fading from her face as she glared at Harry. "Move," she added, elbowing Colin out of the way so that he nearly dropped his camera.

"Hey!" Harry objected, but the four Slytherins marched past. "I want a copy of that photo," she said to Colin as the Slytherins neared the doors to the Hospital Wing, just loud enough so that they'd be able to hear. It wasn't very nice of her, but she said it anyways. "I want to see Malfoy's face when I caught the Snitch."

The angry huff from just inside the Hospital Wing doors was music to her ears.

* * *

_Nov. 1, 1992_  
_Dear Alex,_

_How's school been so far? I know I haven't written for a while, but there really hasn't been _  
_anything to write about until now, unless you count the twins giving Pansy Parkinson cow's_  
_ ears and a tail. But now something really big has happened, and not in a good way._  
_Last night George was Petrified. As in, turned to stone. It'll take months before they'll be _  
_able to revive him._  
_Fred, Ron, Ginny, and Percy were all pulled from school for the day, so it's just me, Hermione,_  
_ and Neville now. Lee's barricaded himself into his dorm. I don't know how Fred's going to be _  
_able to sleep in there without George. I don't think I'd be able to go back to your room if you_  
_ were the one who was Petrified. Just thinking about you being like that makes me want to cry,_  
_ or hit something, or both. Sorry. I'm still having trouble believing that George is really Petrified._  
_Don't tell Remus, please, or Dad._  
_I'll do my best to stay safe. Make sure to study extra for Transfiguration. I've got McGonagall_  
_giving me extra lessons, so by the end of the year I'll be able to Conjure, and hopefully be _  
_able to do some self-Transfiguration._  
_Urgh. It feels wrong to be excited about anything right now._

_Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_Nov. 2, 1992_  
_King -_

_Have you ever seen a creature that looks like a horse, but has an exoskeleton and wings? I've  
seen more than a few here at Hogwarts over the past few weeks, but can't find anything  
matching their description in the library. One of my friends can see them too, so I know I'm  
not just hallucinating. I'd ask Remus - the man you met in the Alley - but he'll probably start  
wondering how I can see them. Do you know why I can see them but almost everyone else  
can't? I know nothing comes free, so just add this to my tab._

_\- Harry_

* * *

_**Nov. 5, 1992**_  
_**Harry -**_

_**I'm sorry about George. Don't go poking around until whoever Petrified him is caught.  
Good luck with Quidditch.**_

_**\- Alex**_

* * *

**_Nov. 6, 1992_**  
**_Dear Harry,_**

**_I heard about what happened to George Weasley, and I must extend my deepest  
sympathies to both his family and to you. Please, be careful. The last time the Chamber  
of Secrets was opened, a student died and the school was nearly closed. And even if  
you were only Petrified, your life would be ruined, your name smeared across papers.  
You must be vigilant at all times. Go nowhere alone, and please, if there is another attack,  
tell me right away._**  
**_Fly well, and be sure to write me at least once a fortnight._**

**_Love,_**  
**_Remus_**

* * *

**_Nov. 6, 1992_**  
**_Dear Son,_**

**_I send my regrets for being unable to attend this Quidditch match as I had planned. A new  
project came up, one of utmost importance to both the Ministry and other organizations.  
I hope your game goes well._**

**_Love,_**  
**_Your Father_**

* * *

_**Nov. 6, 1992**_  
_**Little suspicious lordling:**_

_**The creature you describe is a thestral, and is commonly believed to be an omen of death.  
Only one who has seen death can perceive the beasts. If you did not see them last year,  
then the reason you can see them now is Ash's unfortunate demise. I hope you are still  
wearing my ring. You will need it come December. I have a task for you. Floo to the  
Spitting Chimera at midnight, Christmas morning. Don't keep me waiting.**_

_**~King**_

* * *

_Nov. 7, 1992_  
_Dearest Alex,_

_HOW COULD YOU TELL REMUS WHEN I EXPLICITLY TOLD YOU NOT TO!? I trusted that you would  
keep that information to yourself! And furthermore, you're an insensitive idiot. George is on the  
Quidditch team; we had to hold tryouts for a replacement. Ron got the spot, in case your idiot  
arse cares to know._

_Thanks,_  
_Harry_

_P.S. And don't be a hypocrite - you did more poking around than I ever did._  
_P.P.S And write Dad to tell him that Gryffindor beat Slytherin. He wrote to say that he had been  
planning on coming, but - in a surprising turn of events - got caught up in work._

* * *

_Nov. 7, 1992_  
_Dear Remus,_

_What do you mean the Chamber was opened before? Who died?! And we won, thanks for asking._

_Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_Nov. 7, 1992_

_I'll be there._

_\- Rightfully Suspicious Lordling_

* * *

_**Nov. 10, 1992**_  
_**Harry -**_

_**I **_**didn't**_** tell Remus anything. In fact, I haven't written him since mid-September. Tell Ron  
congratulations from me, alright, and offer my condolences as well. See - I'm not an  
insensitive idiot! I wrote Dad and told him not to bother coming, and that the games aren't  
that interesting anyways.**_

_**\- Alex**_


	9. Chapter 9

Without George, the Gryffindor common room always seemed empty, no matter how many people were there. It was odd, Harry often found herself thinking, how a single student missing could make such a large difference in the atmosphere. But it did.

Fred no longer smiled, or laughed, or cracked jokes. Most of the time he wasn't anywhere to be found, unless one happened to wander in to the Hospital Wing and past the curtains surrounding George's erstwhile home.

The rest of the Weasleys were likewise affected. Percy the Prefect seemed to be floundering; he still studied and chided any rule-breaking Gryffindors, but a few times he'd barked out, "Fred, George, enough!", only to look up and find that it wasn't his twin brothers that had been making the ruckus. Ron was, in a word, surly. He still went about his day like normal, but was much grumpier. Dean and Seamus tried to cheer him up, but Harry could tell they just didn't really get it. Only Quidditch seemed to make Ron feel better, but any time he got close to smiling, it was like he'd remembered that the only reason he was on the team at all was because his brother was in the Hospital Wing. Little Ginny hadn't looked anything besides somber since Halloween, and was prone to breaking into random fits of crying. Sometimes Harry felt like joining her, but knew she couldn't, so whenever she felt so inclined, she would throw herself into studying. Hermione was thrilled - or as thrilled as she could be, given that George was Petrified.

* * *

"Where's Colin?" Harry asked, a little more than a week after the Quidditch match. They'd been practicing for nearly an hour, and still the shutterbug hadn't shown up. Granted, practices weren't nearly as interesting without the twins goofing around and sending Bludgers where Bludgers had no right to be - like straight upwards, or towards Hagrid's hut - but Colin had been at every practice for the last week, so his absence was conspicuous.

"No idea," Aidan answered after a moment where the four of them - Harry and the three Chasers - watched as Oliver flew just underneath Ron, shouting tips and advice to try and get him to improve his aim.

Harry's eyes drifted towards the far end of the stadium, where Fred was floating on his broom, Beater's bat balanced laxly across his broom handle.

"D'you think he'll be okay?" Ryan asked quietly, nodding towards Fred.

"No." The three Chasers looked at her in surprise at her pessimistic response. "I've got a twin," she told them, ignoring their various noises of shock. "He goes to a different school - thank Merlin for that - but if it was me and him in Fred and George's shoes..." she trailed off. Aidan, Zakir, and Ryan nodded, like they understood, but Harry knew that they didn't; how could they - they didn't have a twin, someone who'd shared their entire lives from the very moment they were born, someone who shared more than just blood and brotherhood.

She leaned forward on her Nimbus and dove, only pulling up at the very last second, before steering towards Fred. Neither of them said anything for a long time while Oliver worked with Ron; even when she saw the practice Snitch zoom past her nose to hover near the ball box, as if ready to be put away, she didn't move.

Only when Fred spoke, his voice sounding dead, did they resume participation in practice. "I'd better go rescue Ron before Oliver does something he'll regret." He flew off towards Ron and Oliver, both of whom were indeed getting more frustrated by the minute, while Harry headed towards where she'd last seen the Snitch.

At the end of practice, Oliver shoved a large bundle of photos into Harry's hands. "Get these to Creevey, would you?"

"He's not here."

Oliver shrugged. "Maybe he just wanted a lie-in, or was too chicken to come out in the cold."

"Right," Harry said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. Everyone had been running on short tempers lately, whether because of George's absence, Ron's less than stellar performance, or the flux of cold air. "I'll see you around." She left just as Oliver started to strip out of his practice uniform.

This early in the morning - not even seven o'clock yet - the corridors were largely deserted. Harry'd had to wait for two Ravenclaw girls laden with books, and then a glowering Filch carrying a mop and bucket of rags, to pass before she could access one of the passages that Fred and George had shown her. The passage was dimly lit and narrow, but with tall ceilings, so when she tripped she thought she'd misjudged the distance between steps - not an uncommon happening at Hogwarts, where the individual steps would sometimes gain or shrink an inch at their whim. But the smell of burnt plastic put an end to that thought almost immediately.

There was no plastic at Hogwarts, except for what students - or teachers - had amongst their personal belongings.

"What the hell?" Harry muttered, picking herself up and extracting her wand from the tight fabric of her sleeve. "Lumos." A choked scream escaped her, and she nearly fell over backwards down the stairs. Colin Creevey lay awkwardly on the stairs, stiff as a board and colder than the stone walls of the castle, his camera covering his face. Even without being able to see his expression, she knew that he, like George, had been Petrified.

"What's all th' ruckus?!" Filch sounded furious, but Harry had never been so glad to hear is croaky voice and shuffling footsteps.

"Mr. Filch!" she exclaimed, and the caretaker's approaching lantern - descending from the top of the stairs of the passage - paused momentarily at the address. Students - Harry included - _never_ called Filch anything except just 'Filch' unless they were insulting him.

"What's this?" Baleful brown eyes turned on her. "Killed 'im, did ya'? Pushed 'im down the stairs?"

"What? No! I just - I found him like this!" Harry protested, trying to explain. "He's like George - Petrified! I need to go see Professor Dumbledore!" she finished, her shock and panic at seeing another of her acquaintances unmoving and unawares finally fading.

"There's no need." Harry spun around. Professor Dumbledore was hurrying up the stairs, wand-tip alight and held up to illuminate the way. His light was much brighter than her own, and she quietly put hers out.

"I just found him," Harry explained hurriedly. "He wasn't at Quidditch practice, either."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said gravely, crouching to get a better look at Colin.

"He's Petrified, isn't he." It wasn't a question, and she didn't need to hear Professor Dumbledore's, "Indeed," to know she was right.

"Professor," she asked quietly, "what could have done it?"

"Not whom?" Dumbledore gave a quiet, mirthless chuckle. "You are far more perceptive than some give you credit for, Mr. Potter." Then he sighed and stood up, levitating Colin as he did so. "Argus, make note of any students you see out of bounds, and cordon off the corridors where Mr. Weasley and Mr. Creevey were found. Mr. Potter, speak of this to no-one. Go up to the tower. Quickly now," he added when Harry opened her mouth to ask - again - what could have Petrified Colin.

"Of course, Headmaster," Filch said with a jerky sort of bow. "Right away." He hobbled off up the stairs.

"But - "

"I will make an announcement at dinner, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said sternly. "Until then, I ask that you keep what you have seen to yourself. Is that understood?"

Dumbledore had never seemed so strong and capable, not even when he'd led the way past Fluffy into the bowels of the castle. "Yes, Professor," Harry acceded demurely, and, picking up the stack of photos that she'd dropped, she followed in Filch's footsteps, climbing the stairs until she was back into one of the main corridors of the castle. And even though it would have been faster to take any of the multiple shortcuts she knew, Harry stuck to the main path.

* * *

True to his word, Dumbledore made an announcement that night at dinner. Harry had gone through the day much quieter than she normally did, so much so that Hermione actually asked if there was something wrong with George - _while_ in class.

Students first started to realize that something was different when the food didn't just appear at six thirty like it usually did. Muttering started throughout the hall until Professor Dumbledore stood up.

Unnecessarily, he called out, "May I have your attention, please." Only once it was mostly silent - some poor Hufflepuff had a very violent case of hiccups - did he continue to speak. "In light of the recent Petrifications of two of our students - " the muttering started up again, but Dumbledore just spoke over them - "the Hogwarts Board of Governors and myself have decided to implement a number of safety precautions until the culprit has been caught." By now, all whispers had died out, and everyone was staring up at Dumbledore as he began to list off a new set of rules.

Everyone had to stay in their House quarters between the hours of eight at night and seven in the morning (Oliver seemed most displeased about this, and Harry suspected he would try to take it up with Professor McGonagall as soon as dinner was over). No student should wander the corridors alone at any time of day. Prefects and Head Boy and Girl would patrol as usual, but in the company of a professor (the students in question looked irritated at the prospect, while the professors merely appeared grave). Attendance would be taken by a professor twice each evening - once at eight, and a second time at nine - and in the morning at seven. This sparked a great deal of whispered conversations and complaints. Having role-call taken at seven in the morning meant that everyone needed to be up and in their respective common rooms at that - to some - early hour.

Dumbledore finished with a stern, "Should anyone be caught breaking any of the aforementioned rules, they will be receiving two detentions with Mr. Filch and a one-on-one chat with their Head of House." The Gryffindors and Slytherins glanced nervously up at the head table; Professors McGonagall and Snape had never looked so imposing. Even Professor Sprout managed to look less friendly than she normally did.

After the food appeared, chatter started in earnest.

"Can you _believe_ those rules!?" Dean exclaimed from a few seats down the table. "They can't do that!"

"Actually," Percy said solemnly from between Ginny and Ron. The remaining Weasleys had taken to sitting together at breakfast and dinner. "They can. The Headmaster and Board of Governors are perfectly qualified to institute any curfew they feel is most conducive to a safe school environment."

A moment of silence followed his words. "It's still not fair," Dean muttered sullenly.

"Who was the other person who was attacked?" Ginny asked quietly.

Harry stared down at her plate, torn. On one hand, she wanted to tell her friends - mainly just Hermione and Neville, but Fred and the other Weasleys deserved to know too. But she'd given Dumbledore her word that she wouldn't.

"Harry knows," Hermione said suddenly. She glanced up and saw that everyone in the surrounding area was staring at her with interest. She swallowed heavily, avoiding her friends' eyes.

"I swore I wouldn't say anything," Harry said.

"You don't have to tell us who it was. Just tell us which House and what year they're in." Fred hadn't spoken so many words at a time since before George's attack, and one look at his fiercely earnest expression had Harry caving.

"First year," she said softly, so that only those closest to her could hear. "Gryffindor."

She watched without appetite as they began to scan the table. Ginny figured it out first. "Colin!" she gasped. "It was Colin!"

Harry didn't have to confirm the statement, and none of them ate much dinner that night.

* * *

Three days later, a new announcement found its way to the bulletin boards in each House's common room. The members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were always the first people in the common room, where they would check in with Professor McGonagall before heading down to the Quidditch pitch for their practice, which was only a little shorter than it usually was. Since Harry was nearly always the first person awake, she was the first person to see the notice for the Dueling Club.

"Are you going to go?" Ron asked through a yawn once Harry pointed it out to the other members of the team.

"Maybe," Harry replied. The parchment didn't say who was going to run the club, only that the first meeting would take place on Saturday after breakfast. "I've got a couple of days to decide, anyways."

"I'm going," Aidan said from where he'd evidently been eavesdropping. "So's Zakir and Ryan."

"What?" Zakir came over from his locker at the sound of his name.

"You're going to the Dueling Club next Saturday."

"Oh, yeah. I want to see if it'll help any towards my O.W.L.'s." Zakir and Ryan were both in their fifth year, and gearing up for their Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Harry wasn't envious of them.

"What about your brother," Harry asked Ron quietly. Fred had already finished changing - they were all waiting on Ryan, actually - and was simply sitting quietly, albeit moodily, in front of his and George's lockers. Ron had been given a different one, because no one had felt like emptying George's out.

Ron shrugged, pulling at his sleeve as he did so. "Dunno. He might." Then he scowled. "Ginny will be." Much like flying, women were frowned upon for dueling, even if there was no tradition that outright prohibited them from doing so. It was simply seen as a waste, since too many women had been rendered infertile by their opponents in the past.

"Good," Harry said, getting a confused frown from Ron. Although the Weasley's were considered blood-traitors for their lenient views on muggles and complete acceptance of muggle-borns, they were still a pureblood family, and upheld tradition - much like the Potters. "If there's something going around Petrifying students, she should at least be able to try and defend herself."

None of the players picked up on her use of 'thing' instead of 'one', and not long after Oliver had them out on the pitch.

* * *

After breakfast on Saturday, nearly half the student body was found milling around outside the tall oak doors to the Great Hall.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville had been joined by Cedric; the Weasley's had clustered together nearby, although several other Prefects were speaking quite seriously to Percy, and Seamus and Dean were snickering over something while Ron looked more cheerful than he had since making the Quidditch team.

"Who d'you think it'll be teaching?" Neville asked over the excited chatter coming from a large group of Ravenclaws just behind them.

Hermione replied almost immediately. "I hope it's Professor Flitwick. He was the winner of the European Dueling Circuit three years in a row!"

"Maybe they brought in someone from outside," Cedric suggested, waving back to a few of his fellow Hufflepuffs. "I had a tutor after my first year since the Defense professor left in February and a replacement was never found."

"Really?" Hermione seemed like she'd just won a prize. "And they let you do magic out of school?!"

"Only when the tutor was there," Cedric said with a shrug. "And my mum had to file with the Ministry to let them know the exact times I was in lesson."

"Why don't they tell us muggleborns about that! I could've had a tutor over the summer!"

"Hermione," Harry said dryly, "I don't think you need to study any more than you do. You're already top in our class."

"Only because Professor Snape doesn't like you."

"No, it's because you have consistently better grades than I do across the board. Have you seen my History essays? And my star charts are never up to Sinistra's standards."

"I - well - " Hermione's flustered attempts at a rebuttal were cut off by the doors to the Great Hall swinging open. The crowd had to squeeze together to allow the doors to open fully (they opened outwards) and Harry found herself sandwiched between Cedric and Hermione.

"Sorry," Neville apologized as soon as people started to enter the Great Hall and they could step away from each other. "Didn't mean to step on your foot."

"It's fine," Hermione said, although she was still walking somewhat gingerly once they were caught up in the mass movement.

After a small amount of jostling at the entrance where there was a blockage due to funneling to a narrower stream, they were in the Great Hall.

"Wow." Neville's awestruck articulation summed up the appearance of what - to Harry, at least - had become a normal, and therefore somewhat less fantastic than it had been during her first weeks at school, part of her day. The only recognizable part of the Great Hall was the enchanted ceiling. The tables that students had eaten at hardly half an hour before were gone, as was the elevated head table. Instead, there was a single large dueling platform. The windows to the room had been covered with drapes, so that no one would be disadvantaged if the sun chose to shine through at an inopportune moment. And instead of the candles that normally floated just out of reach of even the tallest students, large glass globes filled with fairy lights hovered at a uniform fifteen feet above the ground.

"Why don't they always have it look like this?" Harry overheard Parvati Patil wondering to the equally enchanted-looking Lavender Brown and Sophie Roper, Hermione's three roommates. Then the three girls started to squirm their way closer to the stage, leaving Harry and her group of friends near the wall where the Gryffindor table normally stood.

"That's some really impressive charm-work," Hermione said, staring up at the fairy lanterns. "I don't know if even Professor McGonagall could do that."

Harry, who spent more time with the Transfiguration professor than her friends, frowned in contemplation. "Maybe," she finally acceded, "but she's also good enough at Transfiguration that she doesn't need to be able to Charm at that level."

"Professor Flitwick could've done it for sure," Neville said. "Maybe that means he'll be the - "

But Neville had spoken too soon, because he was cut off by a jovial yet suave, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!" that could only come from Gilderoy Lockhart.

Harry wasn't the only one there to start muttering in a disgruntled tone of voice. "Great," she said to Neville, "This is just going to be a waste of time."

Hermione, although no more enthusiastic about Lockhart's appearance, hushed them anyways with a pointed look. Cedric chuckled a bit, but quickly fell silent so that they could all hear Lockhart speak.

"I knew as soon as Headmaster Dumbledore made his little announcement a few days ago that the only way to prevent any more unfortunate accidents would be if I were to start up a little club to teach all of my students how to defend themselves! Since I am your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I am, of course, the most qualified." Harry snorted in wry amusement; the sound carried up to the stage, where Lockhart faltered some as students turned to stare at Harry. If she hadn't been standing with her back to the wall, she would've turned as well. Neville flushed a bright pink at all the attention, while Hermione looked mortified to be standing next to Harry. Once again, Cedric was simply chuckling, at ease with the attention.

Lockhart cleared his throat, regaining some of his audience's attention. "Er. Yes - now, where was I? Ah, yes. Although I am undoubtedly the best qualified to teach you how to defend yourselves against - well, anything, really - " Lockhart flashed a toothy grin around at the crowd, and Harry heard more than a few feminine sighs - " I can't very well put on a demonstration by myself. Luckily enough, your very own Professor Snape - " Lockhart reached out an arm and seemed to pull Snape from thin air up onto the platform. Harry didn't know how none of them had seen him before, even in the large crowd of students. " - has agreed to put on a little show with me."

The Slytherins clapped and cheered, and Harry joined in. Snape raised an eyebrow at her from the stage, while Neville asked in confusion, "Why're you clapping, Harry?"

"Because I'm hoping they'll end up putting each other in the Hospital Wing for a few days." She grinned at the suddenly-pensive Neville, while Cedric snorted and Hermione scowled.

"Yes, yes," Lockhart was saying, trying to calm the clapping, a blinding smile on his face. "Now, don't forget to observe carefully." He continued to narrate as he and Snape stood back-to-back in the center of the long stage. "A Wizard's Duel traditionally starts with the two competitors standing like so, wands drawn and at their sides." Snape's wand twitched irritably, like a cat's tail as it stalked its prey. "Now we will each take seven strides - " Harry noted that Snape's strides were considerably shorter than Lockhart's; maybe the blonde man did have some common sense after all " - and then turn, and bow." Snape made a jerky inclination towards Lockhart, his curtain of black hair swinging forward to briefly hide his face (although the end of his rather prominent nose still protruded), while the Defense Professor performed an elaborate flourish that wouldn't have looked out of place in a royal court two hundred years in the past. "In a more formal duel, there would be an officiator who would count us off, but - "

Snape's jab of his wand made Lockhart flinch and cut off, but the spell only went halfway between the two, where it lingered as a ball of dark blue light. The ball morphed into an unmistakable '1', and then a second later, formed into a '2'. By the time Lockhart brought his wand up to mirror Snape's dueling stance, the light had coalesced into a '3'.

"Expelliarmus." Snape's drawled incantation sounded louder than it should have in a room the size of the Great Hall. Lockhart didn't have the presence of mind to dodge, and was pushed backwards so forcefully that his feet left the ground for several seconds. His wand clattered to the ground near Snape's feet shortly before Lockhart himself thudded down onto the platform.

Several students began to clap - Harry noticed that not all of them were in Slytherin, although none of those without green-trimmed robes were female - while a cluster of girls, including Lavender and Sophie, rushed towards where Lockhart was stirring feebly.

"What was that?" Hermione asked eagerly, rising onto her toes to better see Lockhart, a worried expression on her face.

"Disarming spell," Cedric answered. "Didn't you learn that last year?"

"Quirrell," Harry said quietly, and an understanding look came over Cedric's face.

"Ah."

Lockhart began to speak again as soon as he was back on his feet and striding shakily towards his wand. "Yes, very good idea to show them that, Professor Snape. Of course, I could have blocked it very easily if I'd wanted, but thought it better for all of you to see the effects of the Disarming Spell." Snape gave Lockhart a smile; Lockhart took a hasty step back at the malice written therein. "Ah, well, now that you've all seen a proper duel, why don't you all try one of your own." Harry automatically scooted closer to Neville. "Just pair yourselves up, and - "

"Don't you think it would be better for us to pair them up?" Snape cut in. "Less chance of older students taking advantage of younger?"

"Of course, splendid idea, I'd only just thought of it myself." Thankfully - or perhaps not - Lockhart reached their corner of the crowd first. "Now then, let's see, yes, yes, Potter and Longbottom, Granger and Diggory, that works just marvelous." And then he was gone with a wink and a toss of his springy curls as he worked his way through the girls shoving their way towards him. Harry winced when she saw that Snape had gotten to the Weasleys before Lockhart. Poor Ginny had been paired with Pansy Parkinson, while Ron was glaring daggers at Theodore Nott and fingering his wand with a dark look on his face. Percy and Fred, thankfully, were still standing together, and Harry assumed it was because Snape didn't care to risk any of his Slytherins by pitting them against the still-volatile Fred.

"Go easy on me, will you, Harry?" Neville asked nervously.

"Sure." After a moment, she added, "D'you know how to block?" He shook his head, and Harry gave a small sigh of relief. "Good, because I don't either." Neville looked about as relieved as she felt at the confession. "Suppose that's something else we were supposed to have learned last year?"

Neville shrugged. "Maybe."

Their conversation ended when both Lockhart and Snape stepped back onto the stage. "Now that you're all in pairs, we can get started! Remember, disarm each other only! We don't want anyone sent to the Hospital Wing! Bow to your opponents!" Harry and Neville hastily moved further apart - as did most everyone else in the Great Hall - and then bowed. Harry felt rather silly doing so - she hadn't ever really bowed before, although she could curtsey quite well - but did so anyways. When she straightened up, she did her best to imitate Professor Snape's dueling stance, with her side towards Neville and her knees bent; Neville had taken up a similar position, although he looked a bit awkward and self-conscious.

"One...two...three!"

Various cries of, "Expelliarmus!" rang through the Great Hall, as well as other variations of the spell. Harry felt a surge of pride when her spell worked, even if it didn't actually get Neville's wand to do more than jerk a little in his hand. Neville's spell soared past her and collided with the wall a few yards back; it vanished into the stone, only leaving a faint red glow that faded within a few seconds.

"Alright, alright!" Professor Lockhart's voice was faint, and although Harry and Neville lowered their wands, not everyone else did, and she took the chance to look around while the professors tried to get students to stop (Snape with much greater success than Lockhart). Hermione's hair looked like she'd been flying in high winds for the past hour, while Cedric was sheepishly returning her wand.

Closer to the stage, Percy was trying to stem his bloody nose, while Fred had a mischievous little smile that Harry hadn't seen in weeks. Ron and Nott had both received several non-disarming jinxes; Ron was wobbling around on unsteady legs and sported green and silver hair, while Nott's face had several large, puss-filled boils and what looked to be a tea-cozy jammed onto his head. Seamus was apologizing to a rather crispy-looking Dean, while Ginny was smirking in a very self-satisfied manner at a Pansy Parkinson who was batting and shrieking at what looked like very small, green bats.

"ENOUGH!" Snape's voice quieted the hall immediately.

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Lockhart jumped in. "Ah - very good work all of you, although I see that some of you might - er - find a need to visit Madam Pomfrey by the end of our little club. Perhaps another demonstration? With students?" His voice was uncertain as his eyes traveled over the students in various states of disarray. When they landed on Harry and Neville, who looked completely unruffled by their 'duel', his eyes lit up and his smile hitched up a bit further. "Ah, yes, perfect! Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom performed admirably, don't you think, Severus? Why don't they - "

Snape's jaw had clenched at Lockhart's use of his first name, and Harry knew that nothing good could happen. "Perhaps, _Gilderoy_, we should allow a second House to provide a student? After all, it would not be fair if Gryffindor were to supply both demonstrators."

Lockhart stuttered for a moment at Snape's pernicious sneering of his name, but caught himself quickly. "Quite astute, good sir!"

If possible, Snape's jaw clenched further, until he was nearly hissing as he spoke between his teeth. Harry felt Neville wilt a little under Snape's dark gaze, but she stood straight under his scrutiny. "Potter!" he barked, and then, with a twist of his mouth, called out much less forcefully, "Malfoy!"

* * *

_Nov. 17, 1992_

_Dear Remus,_  
_Someone else was Petrified yesterday. I found them in the morning; he was most likely on his was _  
_to Quidditch practice when it happened. Before you come here and pull me out of school, I swear_  
_ that I haven't gone anywhere alone since, and that I won't, either, even if it means being late to_  
_ class. I may be a Gryffindor, but I'm not stupid. I'll write again soon._

_Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_Nov. 17, 1992_

_Alex -_  
_It happened again, to another Gryffindor. I'm being safe, so don't worry. Hope your Transfiguration's_  
_ gonig well. Have you beat Rémi yet at chess? Has it started to snow yet?_

_Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_**Nov. 18, 1992**_

_**Dear Harry,**_  
_**I'm glad you wrote to tell me about the new attack; I heard about it yesterday from one of my  
colleagues as well. I take it both victims have been Gryffindors? If that's the case, be extra  
mindful of your surroundings. I would suggest avoiding all but the most-traveled parts of the  
school, regardless of any tools you might have with you. I don't know if one of you has inherited  
James' cloak, but if you do have it, don't rely on it to protect you. Whoever is doing this is very  
powerful, and seems to have a grudge against Gryffindors, and quite possibly the Gryffindor  
Quidditch team.**_  
_**I trust that you'll take care of yourself.**_

_**Love,**_  
_**Remus**_

* * *

**Nov. 19, 1992**

**Harry -**  
**Be careful. I'm going to write Dad. He'll find out anyways, and it's better that it comes from me  
than some bloke at the Ministry. With luck, he'll believe that I'm being careful - because _I_ am - and  
won't want to come visit or anything. When's the next Quidditch match, by the way, because I'll  
try to find out if he's planning on coming beforehand so he doesn't just spring it on you and ruin  
everything.**  
**Sorry if the bloke was your friend.**

**\- Alex**

* * *

_Nov. 20, 1992_

_Dear Alex,_  
_Dad better not come barreling into Hogwarts because you've alarmed him with your letter. Also, you'd better_  
_ mention getting reading glasses, or something, because I wear them while Seeking, and don't want to have _  
_to ask Madam Pomfrey for a healing draught. Eye-repair draughts are too expensive for Hogwarts to have _  
_(and she's only a medi-witch, not a Healer). And don't bother getting me one for Christmas or anything like _  
_that; I need the glasses to help make my face seem less feminine. Gryffindor plays against Ravenclaw on _  
_March 13._  
_There's now a Dueling Club, first meeting supposed to be tomorrow (probably today, since it'll take the owl _  
_at least that long to get to you). I'm going to go, although I don't really think it'll do any good if I actually _  
_meet up with the attacker. I hardly know any good spells, and those I know of are a bit too advanced unless _  
_I want to try and Transfigure them (which might be a good idea, since I haven't started Human Transfiguration,_  
_ so I'd probably end up killing them by accident). Merlin. I just reread that, and I hope it doesn't come down to_  
_ me facing off against them. Even if I survived, you and Remus would wrap me in wool and shove me into a _  
_closet for safe keeping._  
_Sorry for the extra-long letter. Without George around, I hardly laugh anymore, and I needed a good rant. Even _  
_Professor McGonagall looks like she's missing him. It must be hard for her, with two of her students Petrified and_  
_ none of the other Houses students. Not that I want any other students to be Petrified, of course. Sweet Circe,_  
_ now I'm just rambling._  
_Miss you, and wish I could see you sooner than summer._

_Love,_  
_Harry_


	10. Chapter 10

Neville hissed in sympathy as Harry moved forward, students pulling back to make a path for her.

"Good luck!" Ginny whispered as Harry passed her. Fred patted her shoulder, and Harry gave him a grateful grin.

By the time she climbed the stairs onto the platform, Malfoy was already conferring with Snape on the other side, gesturing rather forcefully. Snape shook his head and said something that Malfoy clearly didn't like, because the blonde Slytherin's face contorted into a glower and he crossed his arms and turned his back on his Head of House.

"Harry, Harry, Harry!" Lockhart had, apparently, decided that, since Malfoy was receiving a talk from Snape, that Harry needed one as well.

"Professor?" She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but it didn't work well and he paused uncertainly before continuing.

"I - ah - well, you did simply splendid against young Mr. Longbottom, but I just had some last minute advice, you know, from a master of the subject." Harry raised her eyebrows. "A Shield Charm," Lockhart began, "goes like this." He tried to demonstrate a motion with his wand, but ended up dropping it. "Whoops! My wand gets a little excited sometimes." Harry's eyes flicked towards Fred and Ron, who'd come closer to the stage. Ron looked sick, while Fred's expression had turned slightly predatory.

"What was that incantation again, Professor?" she asked politely.

"Oh - ah - erm - it's just on the tip of my tongue - "

"Protego," Cedric coughed. He and Hermione and Neville had joined Fred and Ron near the stage.

"Yes, Protego, that's the one. Goes like this." He made another demonstration, but Harry was watching Cedric instead, who went through the motions twice - slowly the first time, and faster the second.

'Thanks,' Harry mouthed to him, before saying to Lockhart, "Thanks, I think I've got it now."

Lockhart beamed at her. "Lovely!" He strode towards the middle of the stage. "Now that both of our volunteers are ready, let's have them come to the starting circle!"

Now that she was actually on the platform, Harry could see that, in the middle of the shining expanse, there was a circle of dark wood, cleanly bisected by a line of paler wood.

"Malfoy," she greeted the Slytherin as they stood back-to-back.

"Potter." His voice lacked the vindictiveness it'd held the last time they'd spoken, outside the Hospital Wing, although it still certainly wasn't friendly. For a moment, Harry was surprised at his civility, but then he added in a whisper, "How's Creevey?" just before they started to count their strides away from each other.

Harry's hand clenched tightly about her wand, and when she spun on her heel, a glare was already on her face. Excited murmurs spread through the crowd, and Harry swore she heard the clinking of coins changing hands. For a moment, she was transported to a different duel - one without wands in a poorly lit bar. And then she was bowing stiffly to Malfoy, who had a smirk pasted across his narrow, pale face.

She swung her wand up and waited for the countdown, anger burning through her and an incantation on her lips. "Remember, Disarm only!" Lockhart reminded them. "On the count of three. One - two - three!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry shouted. The jet of light that exited the tip of her wand was at least ten times brighter than the one she'd shot at Neville. Anger, it seemed, was working with her.

Although her own shout had drowned out Malfoy's spell, she could tell it wasn't a Disarming Charm: it was a dark grey in color instead of crimson. Harry only barely managed to dodge it in time; Malfoy was a better shot than she'd anticipated, or maybe Neville was just particularly bad.

"I said, Disarm only!" Lockhart sounded slightly panicked. Snape didn't say anything from where he stood behind Malfoy.

Harry didn't care; she was already priming for her next spell. Malfoy had broken the rules, so she felt no compunction against doing so herself. "Rictusempra! Tarantallegra! Manguissendo!" Malfoy dodged the first two, but was hit square in the middle of his chest by the last one. Immediately, his fingernails began to grow at an extraordinary rate, so that within seconds he'd had to loosen his grip on his wand or risk impaling his hand on his own nails. Harry mentally thanked the twins for the hex.

Malfoy was clearly incensed by the hex, and before Harry could even think about trying to disarm him again, snarled out, "Serpensortia!" while making a simple jabbing motion. With a loud bang and an angry hiss, a snake appeared, almost squarely in the middle of the platform. Malfoy's stinging hex - recognizable by its irritating orange color - got the snake moving towards Harry. Shocked yells and screams rang out as students hurriedly backed away from the stage and the snake.

Harry, taken aback at Malfoy's unprecedented Transfiguration skills - she hadn't even _tried_ conjuring an animal yet - hesitated just a moment too long.

"I've got it!" Lockhart pushed past her. "Not to worry, Harry." She was torn between irritation at him using her first name and displeasure at his taking over the duel for her. Lockhart pointed his wand at the snake, and with a showy flourish, declared, "Permoveo serpente grande!"

To her side, Harry heard several people gasp, and then the snake, instead of vanishing, was flying up towards the ceiling, and then arcing down - down - down, before landing, not on the dueling platform, but squarely on the floor in front of Ginny, one of the closest people to the platform. It seemed larger than it had on the platform, and Harry suspected, with a sick feeling in her gut, that Lockhart's spell had been more than just a flubbed attempt at Vanishing the snake.

The snake hissed and flared its hood wide open. Harry didn't know what type it was, but she knew, instinctively, that it was probably poisonous. Students were screaming and running, pushing and shoving and pulling each other along in their haste to get out of the vicinity of the maddened snake; Harry was moving before she knew what she was doing, jumping down off the platform and running towards Ginny, who stood as still as a statue, wand lax in her hand, seemingly in a staring contest with the snake.

And then someone - Harry never saw who - bumped into Ginny, sending her sprawling to the ground. Her wand flew from her hand and clattered to the floor, where it rolled towards the dueling stage. The snake hissed, drew back, and -

"STOP!" Harry shouted desperately, only a few feet away.

The snake, miraculously, stopped, quivering where its body lay stretched out, fangs, clearly visible now, mere inches from Ginny's arm.

Silence descended on the Great Hall. Harry was looking at Ginny, whose face had gone from terrified, to shocked, and then back to terrified, although not quite the same. _Not terrified_, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Alex said in the back of her mind. _Horrified._

"I - are you alright, Ginny?" Harry asked. Her voice sounded very small in the suddenly cavernous room.

Slowly - minutely - Ginny nodded. She stared from the snake, to Harry, and then back to the snake, before scrambling backwards. Percy pushed his way through the crowd, glasses askew and robes rumpled, and helped her up, hugging her to his side with one arm as he Summoned her wand from underneath the stage with the other. Percy was much paler than usual; paler, even, than he'd been on Halloween.

"Potter," he said stiffly, and Harry frowned in confusion. She'd hardly ever spoken with Percy, but they'd always been on a first-name basis given the amount of time she spent with the twins and her being one of Ron's roommates.

She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Snape spoke from just behind her, making her flinch and half turn around. "Don't move." His face was impassive, but he searched hers carefully, as if it would explain something. He pointed his wand at the snake. "Evanesco." It vanished silently, as if it'd never been there at all. "I think," he said slowly, loud enough for everyone to hear (although it was still quiet enough that Harry could hear birds - those few that were still around in late November - chirping outside), "that today's meeting is quite done." There was a pause in which no one did anything. "Remove yourselves," Snape said coldly, "or I'll give you all detention. Not you, Potter," he added as Harry turned to leave.

"I - "

"Say nothing."

Harry waited while the room emptied, far quicker than she'd imagined it would. Finally, it was only her, Snape, Lockhart, and, just outside the doors, Hermione and Neville.

"Lockhart, why are you still here? I require a word with my student." Snape's voice was tight and cold, and left no word for argument.

"I - well, that is - Harry is my student, and a very - ah - proficient one, at that - " He tapered off into a mutter about 'having an appointment anyways'. Harry and Snape both watched him leave. As soon as his robes had cleared the doors, they closed behind him, nearly hitting Neville on their way.

"Not that your..._professor_ is gone, let me ask you: how long have you known you are a Parselmouth?" His tone had gone from derisive to unyielding in a matter of seconds. Harry, though, couldn't bring herself to care; the world had tilted beneath her.

"I'm not a Parselmouth," she said, voice sounding far away, as if in a dream.

"Quite clearly, you are." Snape sounded satisfied, for some reason. "It would be wise," he said after a long moment, "to contact your...sire." And then he was gone, leaving Harry swaying slightly in the middle of the Great Hall, still trying to get her head around the fact that she, apparently, was a Parselmouth.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Hermione and Neville were there, pulling her out of the room and along corridors. Harry only came to her senses when they tried to take one of Fred and George's obscure shortcuts. "No," she balked. "Stick to the main halls."

Hermione and Neville exchanged glances, but stayed in the wider corridor. They ended up in the library.

"Why are we here?" Harry whispered as Hermione led her and Neville past tables and rows of books, all the way towards the shelves nearest the Restricted Section. None of the students they passed gave her any strange looks, but Harry knew that everyone in the castle would know that she could speak to snakes before dinner.

"To find out why you can speak Parseltongue," Neville said. "The last person to speak it was You-Know-Who. People are going to start thinking that you're related to him or something."

Harry stumbled over her own feet at the thought. "I'm _not_ related to Voldemort!" she exclaimed, rather louder than she'd intended. Luckily, no one was close enough to have heard.

Neville flinched. "Don't say the name!"

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione said, just before turning down an aisle.

"Don't think that applies to You-Know-Who," Neville muttered sullenly, and Harry's eyebrows rose in astonishment. Not once since she'd met him had she heard Neville complain about _anything_.

"Here," Hermione said, stopping in front of a shelf full of large, similarly-colored books. She read the titles, running her fingers over the spines as she did so, and then began to pull some off the shelves. "Harry, you take these." Harry accepted the three books, staggering slightly under the weight; all three were enormous. Neville was likewise loaded down, while Hermione herself took four, although hers were slightly smaller. She then led them to the nearest empty table; Neville allowed the books to thump onto the table with relief, earning a quick glare from Hermione.

"Sorry," Neville apologized, flushing as Hermione easily lowered her own, larger, stack of books, to the table.

"What are we looking for?" Harry asked, pulling _Almanak of Oldeste Familyes _towards her.

"I'm looking for the Slytherin bloodline," Hermione replied curtly, opening her own book and flipping straight to the index. "Neville's going to examine the Potter family tree, and Harry, you're going to try and find Voldemort."

Harry and Neville exchanged glances before doing as told.

* * *

The news that Harry Potter was able to talk to snakes spread faster than she'd imagined it would. When she, Hermione, and Neville walked into the Great Hall for lunch - a good hour later than they usually did - a hush spread over the students. Harry crossed her arms and stared back at the many eyes; most dropped their gaze immediately, but a few - including Malfoy - stared back.

"Ignore them," Hermione said firmly. "If you show that it bothers you they'll only keep doing it."

"Right. Like they'll stop anyways." But Harry did her best to ignore them as she ate. It was hard, though, since as soon as she and her friends sat down, a great shuffling movement took over Gryffindor table as those students nearest them scooted away, so that there was a buffer of at least four seats on either side of Harry and her friends.

Midway through their meal, Ginny Weasley showed up, her face flushed and brown eyes snapping with anger. She sat down across from Harry, glared at everyone who began to whisper (which was quite a few), and piled food onto her plate. Fred joined them not long after. Lee moved as well - to the Ravenclaw table. Ron and Percy gave Harry stiff nods, but didn't budge from their seats. Dean looked confused, and Seamus wary.

Harry sighed. Her year had just gotten that much harder.

* * *

The next morning in the locker rooms, Oliver broached the subject for the first time. Most of Gryffindor had acted as they usually did the night before in the common room, with only a few exceptions (of whom Lee and McLaggen the most notable).

"So, Potter," Oliver began. "About your newest little...trick." Harry froze from tying her shoe and slowly looked at the captain. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was staring her down with a completely neutral face. "Zakir and I were wondering - how badly do you think the Ravenclaws will piss themselves if you start hissing at them in the air?"

Harry almost felt like crying in relief. For one horrible moment, she'd thought he was going to kick her off the team. She smiled at him. "Maybe enough to drop the Quaffle."

Oliver grinned. "Honestly, Harry, we couldn't care less if you were the Heir of Slytherin, as long as you can catch the Snitch like you normally do."

"Thanks." She finished tying her shoe. "Hang on - I'm _not_ the Heir of Slytherin!"

All she got in reply was a cheerful, "Of course you're not! Mount up, boys!"

* * *

Harry went straight to the library after practice, not even bothering to change out of her dirty uniform (although for her friends' sakes she did cast several - admittedly weak - cleaning charms). As she'd expected, despite the hour, Hermione and Neville were already there, at the same table they'd worked at the day before, with large tomes spread open, some of them holding down the corners of a large sheet of parchment.

"What're you doing with that?" Harry asked, taking the seat across from them.

"I'm sketching your family tree," Hermione replied distractedly, her finger tracing something in one of the books while her other hand scribbled down names. "I'm hoping that by reverse-engineering your line I can find out why you speak Parseltongue."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Why?"

"I just told you! So that - "

"No - I meant why bother. I've got plenty of books on my lineage at home, plus our family tapestry."

Hermione gaped for a second. "Why didn't you say anything about this yesterday!?" she exclaimed in a loud whisper. "It would have saved us so much time!"

"I wasn't exactly thinking straight yesterday," Harry mumbled, pulling one of the unopened books towards her. Glancing at the title - _A Comprehensive History of Hogwarts' Founding Four_ \- she opened it and searched through the Table of Contents until she found, in large curving letters, 'Slytherin: the Dynasty', and turned to the appropriate page.

Hermione spluttered wordlessly for a moment before asking waspishly, "Well, can you have your dad send it?"

"Er - I'll write, but it may take a couple of days. He's not home very often anymore."

Hermione sighed and looked ruefully at the handful of names on her barely-started chart before picking up her wand and muttering an incantation; the ink on the parchment disappeared as she ran her wandtip over the words.

"That's useful," Harry commented, only to have Hermione grab the book she was reading and point towards the door.

"You've got a letter to write." Harry stood, slightly concerned - Hermione seemed awfully waspish this morning.

"Are you alright?" she asked, lingering by the table. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Neville wince and shake his head minutely. Apparently, he'd been quiet for a reason. Before Hermione could answer, Harry said, "I'll be back in a blink!" and hurried out of the library. Whatever Hermione'd got bit by, Harry sure hoped it wouldn't bite her too.

* * *

That evening after dinner, in a very crowded common room, Harry and Neville worked silently next to Hermione at the most rickety table in the room. Harry had just set down her Astronomy essay and accompanying sketch of Saturn and its moons when Neville cleared his throat. It could barely be heard over the laughter, chatter, and odd bangs, but Harry looked over at him.

"Yeah?" Harry asked before Hermione (who was _still_ in a cutting mood) could formulate a response.

"Er - well - my Gran's really pleased with my grades, and when I told her it was because of my friends - you two - she went all - um - she told me that I should ask if you wanted to come to my house for Christmas vacation." Neville wasn't looking at either of them; he'd spoken the last part of his sentence to his hands.

Harry's heart leapt. Despite everything that had been happening, she hadn't forgotten the King's request - it would've been next to impossible to do so with his ring on her finger where she saw it whenever she moved her hands. Being out of Hogwarts would make meeting him that much easier.

"Okay. I'll come."

Neville seemed stunned. "But - wouldn't you rather go home?"

Harry shrugged as she rummaged through her bag to find her copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. "Not really. Alex doesn't have more than a few days off so he's not coming home, and I don't like being there without him."

Neville gave her a bright smile. "Brilliant. And - Hermione? What about you?"

"Sorry, Neville, but my parents have got a trip to the Alps all planned out. They don't like not seeing me for such a large amount of time. I wish I could, though. It'd be fascinating to see how wizards celebrate Christmas." Harry suddenly wondered how muggles did their celebrating, but didn't get a chance to respond before Neville was out of his seat.

"I'll go write Gran and tell her that you're coming, Harry." He wormed his way through the crowded room, nearly tripping every few steps.

"But what about your father?" Hermione asked, her voice finally free of the waspish undertone that had been there all day.

It took her a moment to realize what Hermione was referring to, but when she did, Harry just shrugged again. "He understands - I stayed here over break last year. I'll write again tomorrow and tell him, though." She glanced over at Hermione, who was staring at her with an unusual expression, one that looked vaguely like pity. Harry bristled and asked, "How far have you got on the potions essay? Did you mention how the ripeness of the shrivelfigs can effect the draught?"

Hermione's brow immediately wrinkled in consternation. "No, I didn't! I can't believe I didn't think of that!" She dove for her bookbag, hair more frazzled than usual as she pulled the already completed essay out and frantically began to edit.

* * *

The next week was something of a wake-up call to Harry. Over the weekend, she hadn't really seen anyone outside of Gryffindor House, and while a few of them were wary - quietly or otherwise - most of her House didn't change how they acted too noticeably. To the majority of the House, Harry was just their Seeker: a person to be wished good luck and then cheered for, popular for the two or three days bordering a Quidditch match and largely overlooked otherwise.

The rest of the school, though, was another story. Usually, members of different Houses treated each other with polite indifference (barring those odd inter-house friendships or the nearly legendary feuds that sparked up every so often between Gryffindor and Slytherin), perhaps pasting on a smile if someone needed help or was paired together in a class. Now, though, they were all watching her.

No matter where she went, Harry could feel eyes watching her every move, and whispers followed in her wake like smoke after a fire. Ravenclaws would frown, Hufflepuffs would scurry away, and the Slytherins would simply stare, as if waiting for her to do something. None of them would meet her eyes.

Even the professors were affected by her display of Parseltongue. Lockhart, whenever she so much as squirmed in her seat, would jump and change the subject. It was like having Quirrell back as a professor, but without the stuttering. Professor Flitwick's wand never left his hand, despite the fact that they were going over theory during both classes that week (although it could've been because Seamus had been hiccuping little flames since breakfast, and had the tendency to catch his own robes on fire). Professor Snape - thank Merlin - treated her exactly as he normally did: picking over every mistake she made in a scornful voice, and then telling her to do better next time or he'd petition to have her moved back a year. Both of them knew that he wouldn't (because even if he tried, he didn't have any grounds to kick her out; Harry's potions were consistently in the top four of the class), but the normalcy was gratifying. Even Professor McGonagall was acting differently than she usually did during Harry's private lessons.

Harry had finally gotten the hang of transfiguring complex organisms into different-sized objects (it was always easier to make something simpler, and living to inert definitely qualified as 'simpler') and was eager to try her hand at conjuring when Professor McGonagall stopped her. "Mr. Potter, did you, by chance, hear Mr. Malfoy's incantation when he conjured the adder on Saturday?"

Harry had been expecting to start with objects, not actual animals. The idea had crossed her mind - several times, if she was being truthful - to try to conjure a snake, but snakes were complex and she'd never conjured anything before. She didn't want to end up messing up, since Transfiguration had a knack for making the worst of a mistake. "Yes, I did."

"I believe," Professor McGonagall said in an odd tone of voice, "that you'll have a natural advantage at Transfiguration - or any subject - when there are serpents involved." She didn't sound pleased with the matter, and Harry had the mad idea that Professor McGonagall hated - or even loathed - Parseltongue. "Try to conjure a snake, if you would, and then Vanish it."

Even knowing about her favorite professor's distaste for what she was about to do, Harry couldn't help the thrill of excitement that raced through her as she raised her wand and said, "Serpensortia." It was far easier than she'd expected, as if all she'd done was transfigure a beetle into a button instead of actually conjuring a living, breathing, highly-poisonous adder, nearly identical to the one that Malfoy had conjured only a few days past.

Professor McGonagall's mouth was a hard, unforgiving line, but when she spoke there was no malice in her voice. "Extremely well done, Mr. Potter. If you would." Harry Vanished the snake with a flick of her wand; it was easier by far than the hedgehog she'd just turned into a feather-duster. "Conjure it again, and focus on how the magic feels. And add a sweep to your jab, from the wrist, mind."

It was only after the lesson, as Professor McGonagall escorted Harry up to Gryffindor tower (she had to take attendance anyways), that the older witch truly relaxed. Before opening the portrait, Professor McGonagall looked down at Harry and said, "Do remember, Mr. Potter, that despite what certain people are saying, the ability to speak Parseltongue is not the marker of an evil wizard, just as the ability to Metamorph does not make one a liar and a thief." She stared at Harry with such an intense gaze that, for the first time since meeting her, Harry felt slightly uncomfortable.

"Yes, Professor."

"Good. Spes magna," she added, and the portrait swung open.

* * *

On Saturday, Harry went to the Quidditch match; partly because there was never a bad time to watch Quidditch, but mostly because she wanted to catch Cedric to talk to him after the match. She hadn't seen him at all since her ability to speak Parseltongue had come to light, whether by accident or design, she didn't know. Cedric was in his fourth year, and had such a different schedule than her that even if he'd wanted to speak to her, it would've been difficult, especially with the new rules in place.

Harry sat next to Oliver in the mostly-empty Gryffindor section. A few Hufflepuffs had bled over into their area, but Harry, Oliver, and the handful of other Gryffindor Quidditch die-hards didn't mind. In fact, had her area been as crowded as the Hufflepuffs', Harry would've moved too if it had meant a better view of the game. Hufflepuff was flying against the Slytherin team, who, despite their top-of-the-line brooms, was faring worse against the Badgers than they had against the Lions, mostly due to the Hufflepuff Beaters, one of whom had arms at least as thick as Harry's waist, and the other such precise aim that the Bludgers he hit rarely ever missed the target.

While Oliver took notes on Hufflepuff's chaser formations, Harry watched Cedric fly. She could appreciate many of his more difficult moves, especially those that she still couldn't pull off, mostly because she didn't have enough weight to be stable enough on the turns. But, like her, Malfoy was small, and so Cedric's weight gave him an advantage.

"Seen the Snitch yet?" Oliver asked, jolting Harry from wondering how she could build her body mass enough to do a Inoue Twist without losing her ability to flatten herself nearly flush with the broom.

"No." She changed from watching the Seekers to searching for the Snitch. To her surprise, she spotted it almost immediately, hovering quite innocuously some thirty feet above the ground on the castle side of the stadium. "Found it," she whispered to Oliver.

"Good, good. Now see how long it takes Malfoy and Diggory to notice."

Harry began to count. She'd gotten to eighteen when Cedric turned his broom, froze momentarily, and then blurred into motion. With Malfoy hot on his tail, the two Seekers streaked through the air, only narrowly avoiding barreling into the Slytherin Chasers' formation. One of the Slytherin Beaters hit a Bludger that was so perfectly aimed that Cedric should've had to give up on the Snitch to veer out of the way; instead, he waited until the last minute - ignoring shouts from the crowd (including Harry) - and then spun into the tightest Sloth-Grip Roll that Harry had ever seen. The Bludger impacted squarely with Malfoy's shoulder, sending the smaller Slytherin spinning wildly off course as he dually tried to keep control of his broom and not fall off. And then the game was over, the Snitch in Cedric's hand, Flint bellowing in anger at the hapless Slytherin who'd hit the Bludger.

Harry cheered out loud and hugged Oliver, who swore when his quill skittered over the parchment, leaving an ungainly black trail behind.

"Sorry!" Harry apologized.

"What was that for?!" Oliver asked, somewhat irritated, as he tried to wipe the ink off.

"Just Malfoy getting his," she replied with a grin.

"Still sore about that?" Oliver asked, this time more curious than mad.

"Not really. I just don't like him much."

Oliver chuckled. "I'm not overly fond of him myself. See you around." He stood and left, joining up with his girlfriend Alicia Spinnet as they left the stands.

Harry stayed where she was, watching as the Hufflepuff team laughed and joked together in the air. Cedric must've felt something, because he glanced her way, meeting her eyes squarely, holding them for a long moment before smiling and giving a little bow, Snitch held in a way that she could see it. Harry grinned at the challenge and, after standing, bowed back.

As she tagged along with Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson - Alicia's best friends, even if Katie was a year younger - Harry felt dually excited and relieved; the former for her match against Hufflepuff, even if there were six months to wait, and the latter because Cedric didn't care that she was a Parselmouth.

* * *

The next morning, students were confined to their common rooms until eight. Breakfast was served to them in their common rooms, although very few ate much. Another student had been attacked.

* * *

_Nov. 21, 1992_

_Dear Alex,_  
_I'm a Parselmouth. I'm not joking, either, so you'd better take me seriously when I tell _  
_you to go find a bloody snake and see if it talks back. I need you to write to Dad, as well, _  
_and tell him that you are one, even if you're not. I hope you are. I don't want to do this_  
_ alone._  
_The entire school knows by now. It happened at that Dueling Club I was talking about, so _  
_about half the students were there anyways. I already know some of the Gryffindors think _  
_I'm evil. Write back soon, please.  
Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

**_Nov. 22, 1992_**

**_Harry -_**  
**_First off, no, I'm not a Parselmouth. I tried for about two hours before giving up.  
My best guess is that it's because we're fraternal, not identical. And I always knew  
you were evil, so your being able to speak Parseltongue really doesn't make any  
difference. In fact, it'd be downright handy in some of the old ruins in South  
America._**  
**_I wrote Dad. Don't be surprised if he writes you about it; he'll want to check to  
make sure his princess is fine. It's up to you what you say back._**  
**_We'll figure something out for the Quidditch, don't worry. I've told my friends  
that we switched spots, but not about you. Jonah's a right tricky bastard when  
he wants to be, so between us I'm sure we'll come up with something. It helps  
that he met you this summer.  
\- Alex_**

* * *

_Nov. 22, 1992,_

_Dear Alex,_  
_I know I just wrote yesterday - and the day before that, too - but I just thought I should_  
_ let you know that my friend Neville's invited me to his house for the Christmas hols, and _  
_I've accepted. D'you know if Dowager Lady Longbottom knows Dad?_  
_Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_Nov. 22, 1992_

_Tiber:_  
_As is my right as a member of the Potter family, I request a copy of the Potter Family Tree,_  
_ extended and included all name changes, as far back as it stretches. I also request the_  
_ book House of Potter: Genealogical Studies Through the Ages. Please owl them to me at _  
_once._  
_Regards,_  
_Harriet R. Potter_  
_P.S. Say hi to everyone for me, will you, and make sure Dad doesn't get too drunk on _  
_Christmas, if he's there._

* * *

**Nov. 23, 1992**

**Dearest Harriet,**  
**Your brother has recently brought some alarming news to my attention: he is a  
Parselmouth. I would request that you ask your Year Advisor to help you find a  
snake, to see if you too possess this talent. If you do, we can deal with it this  
summer. As always, keep up your studies.**  
**Love,**  
**Your Father**

* * *

**_Nov. 24, 1992_**

**_Harry -_**  
**_Don't think so - Dowager Longbottom's all about politics, and you know how  
much Dad likes politicians. If Dad asks, I'll tell him, but otherwise don't worry._**  
**_\- Alex_**

* * *

_Nov. 28, 1992_

_Alex -_  
_It happened again._  
_\- Harry_

* * *

_Nov. 28, 1992_

_Remus -_  
_It happened again._  
_\- Harry_


	11. Chapter 11

In the wake of Cedric's attack, the entire school seemed to pause and hold its breath. Cedric was popular, well-known, and, most importantly, _not_ a Gryffindor. The Hufflepuffs seemed lost, as if they still didn't quite believe that one of their own had been Petrified. The Ravenclaws were more uptight, traveling in groups no smaller that four, and were hardly ever seen anywhere except the library and the Great Hall when class wasn't in session. No visible change could be seen in the Slytherins. Worst of all, though, was Gryffindor's reaction: relief.

On some level, Harry could understand why so many of her Housemates were relieved by Cedric's Petrification - after all, it meant that Gryffindor House wasn't the sole target of whoever was attacking them - but for her it just meant that another of her friends was frozen stiff as a board in the Hospital Wing. She couldn't even walk past the place without feeling like crying.

She couldn't decide if it was a relief or not when, a few weeks later, she was packing up some of her belongings - she didn't need _all_ of her things for a two week holiday - and following what seemed like the entire student population down to the gates, where they piled into the carriages. Harry and Neville made sure to skirt the thestrals, although now that she knew what they were, they weren't quite so frightening.

Most of the ride on the Hogwarts Express passed in silence, the three of them reading books of choice. The Weasleys, Harry knew, were secreted away in their own compartment, and would also probably be traveling in silence.

"What sort of spell could do this?" Hermione asked again in frustration. Since Cedric's Petrification, the bushy-haired witch had been chomping at the bit, and had even passed on the lineage research to Harry and Neville (who hadn't gotten very far; Harry found that it was impossible to concentrate on anything now, and lived in an odd sort of lethargy) while she browsed for any sort of spell or potion that could Petrify someone. There weren't many, and none of them fit the symptoms and circumstances.

Harry shook her head. "I've no idea. Remus hasn't the foggiest either, and he works in a bookstore." She didn't mention what kind of bookstore - for all that Remus claimed it catered solely to Muggles, Harry had her suspicions. "Anyways, Neville," she said, casting about for a change of subject, "how are we getting to your house?"

"Portkey, I think. Usually Gran and I take the Floo, but her hip's been acting up."

"Oh. All right." Harry had never actually used a Portkey before, even though she currently had one on a cord around her neck.

The last fifteen minutes of the ride, Harry stared resolutely out the window as Hermione quizzed Neville on various pureblood traditions for the holidays. Neville had just finished explaining about the Yule Log when the train pulled into the station and slowed to a halt.

"Is that your Gran?" Harry asked, peering out the window at a tall, imposing woman who had, by some miracle, managed to keep herself apart from anyone else in the crowd despite being in the middle of everyone.

Neville took one glance out the window and said, "Yeah, that's her. The hat makes her easy to find, even if it's a bit, well, creepy."

Hermione looked too, and wrinkled her nose. "I'm no Lavender or Parvati, but that is the most hideous hat I've ever seen! Why on _Earth_ does she wear it?!"

"Tradition," Neville answered shortly, pulling his trunk down and then going back for Hermione's. As Harry wrestled hers out from under the seat, squashing her fingers in the process, Neville continued, more slowly, "It's a way to show honor and respect to my Gramps' passing, and that she won't ever marry again. If it'd been a turtledove, then she'd be open to courting proposals once she swapped it out for a quail."

"All of that from a hat?" Hermione asked.

"And there's no book for it, either," Harry cut in, flexing her newly-bruised fingers gently. "And that's only birds - you haven't gotten into the flowers and leaves, or her gloves, or," she added, peering out the window at the imposing figure, "the wood of her cane."

"All of that means something?" Hermione demanded, looking rather frightening. "And there's no books about any of it?!"

Harry and Neville exchanged glances, and then Harry said, "It's tradition for us, Hermione. We grew up with it - we don't need a book to tell us all this."

"But - that's just - " For once, Hermione was speechless.

"You'll pick it up easily," Harry said, "Just like you do everything else."

Hermione didn't looked soothed, but nodded. "Neville, I think I'll be needing some lessons once we get back to school."

"From me?" Neville asked incredulously. "Why not Harry?"

"Because," Hermione said, tying her scarf snugly around her neck. "I'm a Ward of House Longbottom. It's your duty."

"Eh - she's got you there, mate," Harry said. "But for future reference, Hermione, it's Most Ancient and Loyal House of Longbottom."

"What's yours, then?" Hermione asked. "I know you've been researching it, but I don't think I've seen anything about the House of Potter itself besides the family members." Her statement was true; the book that Tiber had owled from the manor was just page after page of genealogical trees, with a few notes on appearances or special talents at the bottom of each page, and the copy of the Family Tree was even less informative, showing only those with the last name 'Potter' and immediate family of those who married in or out.

"Most Ancient and Honorable House of Potter." It was one of the first things Harry could remember learning about her House: a Potter was honorable, a Potter never broke their word or gave their word lightly, a Potter stood up for what was right, a Potter was stalwart, true, and brave. "Come on," she said, "We should get a move on or we'll be stuck riding this thing to the end of the line."

Hermione looked like she had a hundred more questions, but the three of them pulled their trunks out anyways. The corridor was empty - their delay had allowed most of the students to disperse - but the platform was still fairly crowded with parents and students excitedly talking to each other. The grimness that had hung over the students like dark cloud seemed to have faded away now that they were no longer in the stone corridors of Hogwarts. Out of sight, out of mind, Harry supposed, even if it didn't hold true for her.

Neville's Gran reminded Harry a bit of Professor McGonagall; she seemed to exude an air of sternness that kept even the most clueless of passerbys from coming any closer than five feet from her person. Her dark, piercing eyes zeroed in on Harry almost immediately as the three young Gryffindors approached her.

"You must be Mr. Potter," she said. Harry noticed right away that the Dowager Lady Longbottom enunciated each word clearly and separately, in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, I am." Harry bowed in the manner that Remus had taught Alex almost as soon as they could walk. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lady Longbottom, and as a Scion of the Most Ancient and Honorable House Potter, I extend all courtesy due to the Most Ancient and Loyal House of Longbottom, and beseech you to use my given name."

Dowager Longbottom nodded regally. "The courtesy is graciously accepted, and offered in equal measures in return." She paused for a beat before adding, "Your manners are most appropriate for a boy of your stature, but may I ask where you learned the traditional greetings? If I am to understand my colleagues - gossips though they may be - your father the Lord Potter spends the vast majority of each day in the catacombs of the Department of Mysteries, and has done so since your birth."

Harry blinked several times in quick succession. How long had the Dowager Longbottom been keeping an eye on the Potter family?

"Gran - " Neville objected, but the Dowager raised a gloved hand, and Neville obediently shut his mouth, even if he didn't look happy about it. Hermione looked torn between anger at Neville's Gran's intrusion in Harry's private life, and interest at the whole proceedings.

"It's all right, Neville," Harry said, before speaking, rather coldly, to his grandmother. "My father may choose to spend his time at work rather than at home, but that does not mean that he disregarded my brother and my upbringing. He arranged for tutors at age five." While it wasn't strictly true - house elves didn't really count as tutors - it was true in the fact that their father had instructed the elves to teach Alex and Harry as James himself had been taught by his parents. Since Tiber, Leena, and Matilda had all been with the Potter family when James was growing up, Harry and Alex had received a full, if somewhat odd, education in tradition and the basics of theory in most fields of magic. The house elves knew a surprising amount about magic and pureblood tradition, just from having lived with it their entire lives.

Dowager Longbottom didn't seem put off by Harry's cold tone; if anything, her eyes sharpened and her face took on an oddly approving cast, which was quickly turned into a polite smile as she turned to Hermione. "Ward Granger. I trust that Scion Malfoy has given you no further troubles."

Hermione stuttered a little as she answered. "N-no, Lady Longbottom, he hasn't."

The old woman raised her eyebrows. "No, he has not not given you troubles?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean - " Hermione paused and took a deep breath before saying in a controlled voice, "Scion Malfoy has not approached me or insulted my person in any way since the beginning of September."

"She'll do. Now, come along," the Dowager said to Neville before turning and starting her way through the crowd to a cordoned off section of the platform where, every so often, witches and wizards would either appear or disappear, clutching some sort of worthless object. An angry blush bloomed in Hermione's cheeks at the double slight, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Harry covertly stepped on her foot, and when she glanced at her, shook her head.

"Think Snape," Harry whispered. Hermione frowned for a moment before nodding in understanding. It appeared that, as with Snape, the Dowager Longbottom didn't give praise lightly - or at all, really.

"Harry, we've got to go, or she'll leave without us." Neville was already starting to pull his trunk after his grandmother.

"I'll catch up in a minute," Harry said, giving Neville a quick grin. "Don't worry." Neville nodded - looking worried anyways - but sped up anyways, taking advantage of the path his grandmother had wordlessly managed to clear through the rapidly thinning crowd.

"Harry, you should go."

"I'll be fine, Hermione. Just- she didn't mean anything by it. She's testing you, to make sure you're worthy of being under her House's aegis." Hermione immediately began to fret, fiddling with the sleeve of her muggle coat. "You've already managed to impress her, so don't worry about it. I daresay she likes you better than me, what with you being the person who made it possible for her to get her Feud with the Malfoys. Don't worry about it."

"I - oh, all right. I suppose you'd know more about it anyways." She looked pained at the thought. "But now you really need to go. Look, they're nearly there." A quick glance told Harry that Hermione was right.

"Happy Christmas," she shot over her shoulder as she grabbed her trunk and all-but sprinted through the crowd. She only barely caught Hermione's returned, "And you!" over the hooting of owls, the yowls of cats, and the squeaking of trolley wheels.

* * *

Longbottom Manor was just as imposing as Harry had expected - and just as impressive as she supposed Potter Manor would look to a visitor, if they'd ever had any. Like Potter Manor, it was made completely of stone, from the darker-colored ground storey, barely visible though it was between the intricate tracery of ivy vines, all the way up to the black-shingled roof. As she and Neville trailed after Dowager Longbottom on the way to the manor from the small gazebo set aside for Apparition and Portkey, Harry eagerly took in their surroundings.

Whereas Potter Manor was situated on a rather wooded parcel of land, with some gently sloping hills towards the back, Longbottom Manor's grounds were almost completely flat, and snow-capped ridges could be seen in every direction. Longbottom Manor was built in a valley, and, judging by lack of smoke from anywhere besides the manor itself, was the only home there. Which made sense, given that the Longbottoms were one of the oldest families in Great Britain, with roots all the way back to Druidic and pre-Norman times.

The inside of the manor was tastefully decorated, although Harry quickly found that all of the breakable items had been magically Stuck to their spots by either house elves or the Dowager herself. The why was apparent when Neville's trunk knocked first against a vase that looked like it came directly from Ancient Grecian ruins, and then against a magnificently carved teak entry table with many small porcelain statues on it.

After the second collision, Dowager Longbottom sighed - rather loudly, Harry thought - and called out, "Tanda!" With a muffled popping noise, a small female house elf appeared, already sunk into a deep curtsey.

"How mays Tanda serve Mistress?" she squeaked.

"Take Neville's trunk to his room, and then take Mr. Potter's to the nearest guest suite to Neville's quarters. And tell Ginger that tea will be served in the Blue Lounge in half an hour."

"Yes, Mistress." Another muffled pop and Tanda was gone, along with both Harry's and Neville's trunks.

"Neville, show Scion - ah, _Harry_, to his rooms, and put on something appropriate afterwards."

"Yes, Gran. C'mon, Harry."

Harry followed Neville up a set of polished wooden stairs. They got off on the first landing, and Neville led the way down an increasingly green hallway. By the time there were plants on every available surface - and some hanging from the ceiling as well - Harry was sure they had to be nearly at Neville's room; there was no other reason for there to be such a large number of plants otherwise.

"Who takes care of them when you're at Hogwarts?" she asked. The Dowager didn't seem like the gardening type of grandmother – nor a knitter, at that.

"Yory," Neville replied. "He's our other elf." Harry nodded. The Longbottoms, while one of the oldest Houses of the British Isles, were far from the wealthiest; that title belonged to the Macmillan Family, and then those of the Fawleys, Blacks, Malfoys, and Lestranges. A few more yards, and Neville indicated a door. "This is my room. I'd invite you in, but we should get changed into better clothes first. Come on, yours isn't too far away."

And it wasn't. Within three minutes, Harry was stepping into her room - _rooms_, really - for the next two weeks. It was clearly a suite meant for long-term visitors. There was, of course, the bedroom, but also a small sitting room, an even smaller study, and a bathroom of her very own, for which Harry was very grateful. Showering at school was always stressful, with the danger of any number of boys walking in at any time. Closing the curtain didn't guarantee that none of the other boys would bother her.

"D'you think you can find your way back?" Neville asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Yeah." There was an odd silence; things hadn't been so awkward between them since they'd first started to sound out their friendship more than a year ago. "Erm. What's 'appropriate' clothes?"

"Traditional," Neville said immediately.

Harry nodded her understanding. "See you in a few," she said, and then he was gone, the door swinging soundlessly shut behind him.

It took her ten minutes to shower, and a further ten to find her least-wrinkled set of semi-casual robes. They were really Alex's, since all of hers sported a decidedly feminine cut, but they fit her well enough, barely an inch too short in the sleeves and hem, which could be easily explained away if the Dowager commented.

Neville's door was open when Harry found her way back to his rooms. She knocked, but upon receiving no answer, entered anyways. Like her quarters, Neville's door opened to a sitting room, although his most definitely looked lived-in. There were plants on every available surface, knickknacks stowed wherever they would fit, and many photos on the walls. Harry took her time inspecting them. While most featured Neville in exotic locations - most often with dirt on his clothes and face and some sort of plant held proudly in his hands - nearly as many were of Neville and his Gran together. Harry was surprised to see how happy the both of them looked in the photos; the Dowager didn't come across as a woman who smiled very often, and she knew for a fact that Neville's smiles were rare things.

After a few more minutes spent exploring his sitting room, Neville appeared, hair still damp from his shower, and his face pinched from nervousness.

"I just saw Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid coming from the Entrance Chamber. She's invited them for tea."

"Okay. Why're you so worked up about it?"

Neville fidgeted for a moment before answering. "Aunt Enid...well, she's not quite right, anymore. Still thinks I'm my dad."

Harry frowned. "Have you tried - "

"Yes," Neville interrupted, suddenly bold. Harry was slightly taken aback at the mercuric change. "We've done everything; St. Mungos, specialists, even the centaurs. Nothing worked."

"Sorry."

Neville just shrugged. "Me too."

Harry didn't know quite what to say.

* * *

As it turned out, Neville's Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid had been invited to stay for the entire holiday season. For some reason, this cheered Neville up immensely. When Harry asked why, after tea, he replied, "Means that Gran won't be able to spend as much time nagging me to do better. She'll be bragging to Aunt Enid - they're sisters-in-law. They don't get along well."

And his prediction was completely true. Harry and Neville had the run of the manor and its grounds. They spent the vast majority of their time outside in the sprawling gardens that lay behind the manor, carefully tucked behind tall hedges to protect from any grazing animals that might come searching for easy food.

"The deer haven't been so bad lately," Neville commented their second day together. Harry had brought her broom with her, and was flying - slowly - around Neville's prized greenhouse, one of three that the Longbottoms had in their gardens. This specific one was rather arid, which was why neither of them had on anything more than slacks and loose shirts. Neville had long since doffed his collared shirt, and was squatting at the base of a pustule-covered tree in his vest and trousers, doing something to the tree's rather prominent roots.

Harry was very pointedly not going anywhere near the tree; its trunk was, frankly, disgusting. Some of the pustules looked ready to burst. "That's good," she said laconically. It was very relaxing, just making circles on her broom. She'd never flown inside a building, excepting her brief, panicked journey to the Great Hall near the end of last year, but she didn't like to think about those last few months.

One of the pustules near the sparsely-leafed branches burst; pale lavender pus oozed down the side of the tree. Harry gagged at the rotten scent. "What _is_ that?" she asked, watching incredulously as Neville scrambled to get a glass flask to collect the viscous liquid.

"It's a Bleeding Yulacaba tree, native to Australia. The sap is used by the indigenous shamans in rituals, but it's an excellent purifying agent for just about anything you can think of."

Harry shook her head. "How can you do so poorly in Potions when you know so much about plants?"

Neville shrugged, using a tattered piece of terrycloth to wipe some errant sap - Harry still thought it looked more like pus than sap, but who was she to argue with Neville about plants? - from the lip of the flask. "Plants are only some of the ingredients," he said complacently, corking the flask and putting it aside, returning to the roots.

Harry couldn't fault his statement. Instead, somewhat bored and very much sweaty from the hot temperatures inside the greenhouse, she asked, "Now what are you doing? The roots don't secrete something nasty, do they?"

Neville shook his head absently. "I'm going to see if I can establish a graft on it. Professor Sprout thinks that a Blushing Crabapple might do well, since they'll share a root system."

Harry nodded; she understood what he was saying, if not the entirety of the theory behind it. A few minutes later, Neville, tired of her hovering - quite literally - just behind him, sent her outside to fly around the valley that Longbottom Manor was situated in. Eagerly, Harry complied. Even though everything she could see was somewhat drab and very wet, it was still quite beautiful. As she flew further afield from the manor the ground began to slope up to the ridges, and she saw a few deer tracks in the mud. Not far from where the deer tracks originated, she found a set of extraordinarily large paw prints – most likely some sort of wolf. Only one wolf, but still, even a single wolf could be dangerous, especially one with paws so large. She quickly ascended further into the sky, and when she found Neville in a different greenhouse, Harry joined him without complaint in harvesting the Popping Snapdragons and a few clementines from his small tree.

* * *

Two days before Christmas, Harry and Neville stood with the Dowager, Enid, and Algie in the least formal of the manor's sitting rooms. As it was the room that the Dowager most often used, it was the only fireplace in the house with an external Floo connection. Harry filed the knowledge away for future use as first Algie, and then Enid, Flooed away to Millie's Hat Shop, located in the Flower District of the Lower Alleys. Harry had been surprised to hear that the Dowager would shop anywhere besides Diagon Alley, but had realized that the woman had married into the Longbottom family. A discreet inquiry whilst waiting for the Dowager to join the rest of them in the milliners had Neville telling her his grandmother's roots.

"She's a Croaker. Uncle Algie's an Unspeakable. They don't get along much, but they stick together anyways." And then the woman in question stepped imposingly from the Floo, and Neville feigned interest in a nearby fez, a light flush creeping up what little of his neck that she could see over his tasteful grey and purple scarf.

"This way," the Dowager commanded, leading the way to the door with a polite - almost friendly - nod to the woman behind the counter. Harry and Neville made up the rear of the procession.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, shoving her hands into her thick cloak's pockets, belatedly wishing she'd thought to wear her gloves. As it was, she was glad for Remus' thoughtful gift from last Christmas before they'd walked the length of the building.

"Gran's favorite antique dealer, first," Neville said, his breath making great clouds of mist that were snatched away by the stiff breeze within seconds. "Then to an apothecary so that Gran and Aunt Enid can look over potions while Uncle Algie slips away to buy perfumes for them. And then lunch, a few herbologists, a stop at Flannery's and Silk's, and then we move on to Diagon Alley. They'll go for tea. Usually I go with them, but Gran said that we're old enough to go about on our own as long as we stay in Diagon."

Harry's head was spinning with the length of the list - she'd never spent so long a period of time in public before - but she managed a nod, glad that most of her gifts had already been ordered and sent along. She only had to buy gifts for the twins (easy), Cedric (less so), and Professor McGonagall (hardest of all).

True to Neville's prediction, the Dowager led them into a store that smelled of polish and dried flowers. Neville and Harry stayed near the door at the Dowager's request.

"The first time I came in, I knocked into a vase and broke it," Neville explained. "It was Greek, and couldn't be repaired with magic."

They spent nearly half an hour in the store. Harry found a number of items that Alex would doubtlessly be interested in, and a great deal more that she had no idea what they were. There were, of course, also some things that she easily identified, but nothing that caught her interest. Antiques weren't really all that fascinating to her, as most families guarded their heirlooms almost religiously, her own included.

At the apothecary - a charming little store with barely enough room to turn around in - Enid and the Dowager got into a debate with the proprietress over the price of an Ever-Fresh Draught, and haggled until Algie returned, his cloak now with a small bulge over his lower ribcage. Harry waited for the three older members of their excursion to leave before purchasing a 4-ounce vial of pearlescent moondew, a dram of lobalug venom, and an ounce of powdered harpy claw. Neville had looked confused until Harry said, "The twins."

"Harry - they'll blow up the entire tower!"

"They don't brew anything dangerous in their room," Harry replied as they hurried to catch up with Algie, Enid, and the Dowager. "Even they're not that thickheaded."

"But - last year - "

"That was Hermione," Harry cut off his stuttering. "Fred and George only brew in their room enough to stink it up enough to keep Percy out, and only potions that they could brew with their eyes closed. The rest of the time, and when they're experimenting, they're in one of their secret rooms." She scowled a bit; despite her pleading, they'd refused to show her where they sometimes disappeared to. She hadn't tried asking since George had been Petrified. "There!" she exclaimed, bee-lining for a small café called 'From the Dragon's Flame'.

After lunch - a hearty beef stew with dense, buttery bread on the side - they ventured into no less than three herbologists. The Flower District had earned its name from the many plant shops and small apothecaries that bordered the cobbled lane, and although it wasn't as large or as well-known as Diagon Alley, it didn't have the same stigma as Knockturn Alley or other of the Lower Alleys.

Harry saw many fascinating plants that she'd never known existed. The majority of them were merely hybrids created for their aesthetics, but a few of them also had magical properties. Her favorite was a small tree with fragile-looking silver leaves and a striking white trunk. Neville enthusiastically told her that it was a cross between a mundane birch and the silver-leaved unicorn tree, and that when it flowered in the spring would emit a faintly comforting aura. The flowers were also excellent for calming nerves and the bark for soothing arthritis when steeped into tea. She ended up purchasing a tin of ready-made tea-bags for Professor McGonagall, who had sometimes grimaced when grasping her quill to write during their private lessons. Even if her assumption was wrong, and McGonagall didn't have arthritis, it would still calm her down if she was stressed, which she invariably was.

The stop at Flannery's and Silks was quick; the Dowager and Enid both picked up preordered skeins of embroidery floss. Once they made their way down the short distance of Knockturn Alley into the very far end of Diagon Alley, the Dowager pulled Harry and Neville to the side while Enid and Algie looked on.

"Neville, Harry, as you are both young men, it is now prudent to allow you some freedoms. The two of you may wander on your own in Diagon Alley for an hour. Only one hour, mind you, and _only_ in Diagon Alley, so be at Vivian's by four o'clock." They voiced their agreement, and she handed Neville a small purse. "Don't spend it all in one place, Neville."

Neville gave his Gran a quick smile. "Thanks," he said. The old woman smiled briefly, giving Harry a glimpse of something not at all stern and imposing, but tender.

"Run along now, and be sure to enjoy some of Dilly's chestnuts for me." And then she was back to normal, waving them off with an aloof expression.

"Whose chestnuts?" Harry asked as soon as they were alone.

"Dilly," Neville answered, setting off at a brisk clip towards Gringotts. "She's here every winter with a little cart of roasted chestnuts. She'll even roll them in butter and spices, if you ask." Even though they'd eaten lunch not long before, Harry's mouth watered at the description, and she eagerly followed Neville past Gambol and Japes, a second-hand robe shop, and Quality Quidditch Supplies to where a small cart was set up in a cramped alcove at the seam of the storefronts for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and Amanuensis Quills. They waited for a mousy woman and her small child - just a toddler, really - to leave before stepping forward.

"Happy Christmas, Madam Dilly," Neville greeted the witch behind the cart, whose greying hair was escaping from beneath the cheerful yellow knitted hat.

"That time of year already, Master Longbottom?" the witch asked with a pleased smile. "How was Hogwarts? This one of your friends?" As she spoke, her hands were busy, scooping out chestnuts from a large cauldron that had blue flames underneath it, transferring them to a cast-iron skillet filled with butter, and adding pinches of spices without bothering to look.

"Sorry - yeah. Madam Dilly, this is my good friend Harry Potter. Harry, this is Madam Dilly. She makes the best chestnuts in the Alley."

"Now, now, Master Longbottom," Dilly said with a girlish giggle. "You're making me blush!"

Neville's cheeks flared a sudden red and he scuffed his feet. Harry swallowed a snicker. In what seemed like no time at all, Dilly was dishing the finished nuts into two small paper bags and handing them over the counter. "That'll be five knuts each, now," she said with a wink to Neville, who already had his money ready.

Harry had to grope one-handed for her own purse, which had ended up underneath her earlier purchases. As she passed over the coins, Madam Dilly's eyes widened. "That's a charming little bit of shine you got there," she commented, taking the payment.

Harry glanced at her hand - the King's ring gleamed up at her, and she had to fight to keep her eyes from narrowing. The King hadn't been lying, then, when he'd said that those from the Lower Alleys would recognize it when they saw it, even if Dilly's cart was smack in the middle of Diagon Alley at the moment. "Thanks," she said lightly, shaking her cloak so its folds hid her hand. "It was a gift from an acquaintance."

"Mighty fine gift, that," Dilly said. "Take care of it. Happy Christmas." They knew they'd been dismissed, and moved from the alcove, heading towards the Magical Menagerie so Neville could purchase Trevor some blowflies.

"Were you talking about that ring you've been wearing all year?" he asked around a chestnut.

Harry, who'd been about to pop her first nut into her mouth, lowered it back into the bag. "Yeah. It was a birthday gift."

Neville swallowed. "Can I see it?" he asked. "I mean - you don't have to, if you don't want to, but Dilly's an old hand around the Alleys, and - "

"Here." Harry thrust out her hand; she didn't want to take the ring off, and doubted that she could if she wanted to, since the cold weather had shrunk the metal band tight about her thumb.

Neville frowned at the dark stone and brass, stretching out his hand before yanking it back when his fingertips were only a few centimeters from the glittering rock. "That's dragon opal," he said in surprise. "Who gave you that ring?! Those are right expensive, and nearly impossible to find!"

"Er - a distant cousin," she lied, and Neville's frown deepened, but he didn't say anything, for which Harry was grateful. Neville probably knew that the Potter family had very few cousins left unless one counted the Black family, none of whom would've gifted such a pricy gem to a Potter. She hurriedly stuffed a chestnut into her mouth, and nearly stopped dead in her tracks - it was that good. " 'is is _good_," she mumbled around the nut.

The frown left Neville's face as he nodded. "They are, aren't they. Too bad she's only here for two weeks."

Harry made a noise of assent, and followed Neville into the Magical Menagerie, where she made a point of staying far away from the reptile section of the store.

Before their hour was up, Harry'd managed to find a gift for Cedric. It wasn't much - just an old silver key that clearly came from some prior century - but she planned to Transfigure it some wings and then Charm it to evade anyone who flew after it on a broom. Longbottom Manor, as with Potter Manor, had many ancient protections, and would block the Ministry from noticing she'd used magic outside of school. Plus, they hadn't handed out the pink notices like they had at the end of last year to inform students not to use magic over the holiday. Harry figured she wouldn't be the only student using magic at home - only the muggleborns had to be careful, since they weren't around any older witches and wizards whose presence could allay the Trace's detection.

After a late tea with Neville's relatives, all of them Flooed back to the Manor, ready to relax - or, in Harry's case, start planning for Christmas morning.

* * *

**Nov. 31, 1992**  
**Harry -**  
**Who was it? Are you okay? If you want, I'm sure I can get permission from the  
Headmaster so you can transfer for the rest of the year. It'd be safer, and we  
could work it out so Dad would think it was me switching, not you. WRITE BACK  
AS SOON AS YOU CAN!**  
**\- Alex**

* * *

_**Dec. 1, 1992**_  
_**Dear Harry,**_  
_**I am very sorry to hear of the latest attack. I have contacted several people, but  
none of them have any inkling of what might be causing this. Keep your head  
down and your friends close.**_  
_**Love,**_  
_**Remus**_

* * *

_Dec. 2, 1992_  
_Alex -_  
_I'm fine. I don't want to leave Hogwarts. Don't ask again._  
_-Harry_

* * *

**Dec. 4, 1992**  
**Harry -**  
**You didn't answer my question. Who was it? And don't tell me that you're fine. I'm  
your _twin_ \- I know you better than that.**  
**-Alex**

* * *

**Dec. 12, 1992**  
**Harry?**

* * *

**Dec. 16, 1992**  
**Harry, Circe take it all, if you don't write back _right now_ I swear on Mordred's staff  
that I'll come to Hogwarts myself and drag you to Asclepius kicking and screaming.  
See if I don't.**  
**Your loving and oh-so-gentle brother,**  
**Alex**

* * *

_Dec. 17, 1992_  
_Dear Alex,_  
_Sod off._  
_Your sweet and angelic brother,_  
_Harry_


	12. Chapter 12

Late on Christmas Eve, Harry watched as one of the Longbottom's three owls winged its way north on its way to Cedric's hospital room; even though he wouldn't get it until he was revived, she couldn't _not_ send him something. She'd already sent her other gifts, but his enchanted key had taken longer than she'd expected. Although the transfiguration had been easy - and would last for a good number of years, too - Harry had run into trouble with the Charming of the object, finally having to go to the Dowager for help. The old woman hadn't even blinked at Harry's doing magic outside of Hogwarts, and had even introduced her to Runes, showing her how a single rune - the Nordic Uruz - could keep both the transfiguration and the charm working in perfect order for nearly three times as long as Harry would've been able to manage on her own. Harry had resolved to look further into the subject as soon as she got back to Hogwarts.

But now that she didn't have Cedric's gift to work on, worry for the night ahead caught her full-force. She'd been able to push her trepidation to the back of her mind when she was occupied with finishing Cedric's present in time for it to be ready for Christmas Day, but now that it was done, she had nothing else to think about. Neville was out in his greenhouse, and had requested she stay away, as he was working on her gift.

For an instant, Harry was tempted to try and sneak in anyways, but quickly shut the thought down; she liked the surprise of opening gifts without knowing what they would be. Instead, Harry heaved a long sigh and turned away from the window.

She hardly noticed what she ate for dinner that night, although the food was doubtlessly well-prepared; everything tasted the same, and as the night progressed and her nerves heightened, Harry's stomach hardened into a writhing knot of queasiness.

Neville noticed. "Harry, are you okay?" her friend asked over the chess board that they'd set up near the large fireplace in one of the larger sitting rooms of the manor, where a modest-sized spruce had been decorated earlier that day. All three adults were drinking eggnog over a game of three-handed bridge.

Harry nodded. "Just thinking about the Weasley's," she lied. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but the fib worked.

"Oh." Neville stared down at the board for a good minute before moving one of his remaining pawns. "Poor Fred."

"Yeah," Harry echoed, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "Poor Fred."

Harry waited until ten minutes to midnight before leaving bed. She'd gone to bed dressed in what she'd be wearing to the Spitting Chimera: a plain black cloak, black slacks, and a dark grey jumper - clothes meant to help her blend in to the background, if she was lucky. With her, she brought only two things: her wand - even if she didn't plan on using it, she felt safer with it - and the old invisibility cloak she'd found in the attic during summer.

The halls of Longbottom Manor were unfamiliar to Harry, who knew her own home so well that she could likely navigate them blindfolded, and to whom the twisting stone corridors of Hogwarts were likewise becoming familiar. The plants and decorations that seemed so innocuous during daylight now hid in shadows, only to blink into existence mere seconds before Harry would've otherwise run into them. The air hung heavy in the silent house as she padded on stocking feet, shoes swinging in one hand, towards the only open Floo in the house. For the entire two floors, she didn't see anything stirring - not the portraits, not the plants, not even a mouse.

At last, she was in the sitting room. She half expected someone to be there, waiting to catch her (if she was being honest, the glance she threw around the moonlit room was searching for McGonagall's profile, even if her common sense told her that the professor was most certainly at Hogwarts), but the room was empty and - cold. Harry swore under her breath as she stared at the empty fireplace. Would the house elves notice? Deciding that she didn't have much of a choice - a small clock on the mantel showed that it was now a minute to midnight - _had it really taken her so long to get down here? _\- Harry fished her wand from her pocket and pointed it at the single log sitting helpfully on the grate. With a murmured, "Incendio," small orange flames began to climb up the sides of the log, as if the fire had started a good twenty minutes ago. Harry stowed her wand away and, after a moment of hesitation, swung the invisibility cloak over herself. The extra material pooled around her feet on the floor, reminding her that she still needed to put her shoes on.

A minute later, as the clock began to chime out the hour - Christmas Day had just begun - Harry tossed a large pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped into the now-green flames. "The Spitting Chimera," she said clearly. Just before she was sucked away, she saw the door to the sitting room open, Neville's round face staring into the room, an expression of mixed alarm and curiosity on his face. Harry felt sick.

The guilt hadn't faded by the time she began to slow down, but Harry pushed it to the back of her mind. It wouldn't do to be distracted while on whatever task the King had lined up for her.

When she finally stopped rotating, Harry stepped forward from the fire...into more fire. Smoke was thick in the air, and she immediately tugged her cloak over her mouth so that she could breathe without irritating her lungs. As it was, her eyes were watering so much that, when combined with the smoke and the slight iridescence of the invisibility cloak, she could hardly see more than two feet in front of her.

She coughed. The sound was muffled, both by her cloak and by the twisting morass of grey and white smoke, which, as she stumbled forward, looked sturdy enough to be a wall. _There! _she thought, spying the outline of a person to her right. She moved swiftly to the shape, hoping that whoever it was would be able to show her which direction the door was in, but when she got closer, saw that it was only a bar stool, with one of its legs missing and a large chunk taken from the high back.

Coughing more vehemently, Harry put her hand onto the bar itself. It was hot, but not hot enough to burn, so she groped her way through the swirling smoke, moving to where it seemed slightly less thick. "Hello?!" she called out before another coughing fit hit her. She felt like she was hacking up a lung, and her thoughts were getting muzzy. _I need to get out of here_, she told herself as panic began to rise in her throat. Or maybe that was just mucus.

And then she felt it - the breath of fresh air curling along the back of her hand on the bar. She turned to the left, banging her shins on a piece of wood that never-the-less gave way before her. _Swinging door_, Harry realized two long seconds later. She stumbled forwards, the breeze tugging her along like a dog on a leash, willing to go but unable to move fast enough. Harry let her cloak drop away from her mouth as the smoke grew less pronounced - the fire seemed to be in the other rooms, not, as one would've expected, the kitchen that she was in.

The breeze came from a broken window above a stretch of empty counter that, judging by the shards of crockery and spilled fruit and bread on the floor, had once been crowded with food. Now more awake than she'd been since stepping out of the Floo, Harry clambered onto the counter, ignoring how the hem of her cloak dragged through some smashed apples, and was half-way out the window before she even bothered to look down. The drop was a good five feet: nothing compared to some of the spills she'd taken when first learning how to fly.

A sharp piece of glass in the window frame tore her cloak open as she dropped, making a tearing sound that seemed extra loud in the otherwise silent night. Now that she was out of the burning building, Harry took the time to look around. She'd dropped into a small delivery alley, by the looks of it, with boxes and crates stacked up. A few piles near the mouth of the alley had fallen over, as if...Harry shrank back into the shadows, just in time for no less than six cloaked figures to sprint past the opening to the street; she needn't have worried, though, since none of them spared a single glance down the dark lane.

It took a solid five seconds for Harry to realize that, although she'd _seen_ the figures go past, she hadn't _heard _them. The ominous feeling in her gut that had taken root the moment she realized that the pub was on fire solidified; something was very clearly _wrong_. Wishing she was able to use magic without the possibility of getting in trouble for it, Harry crept to the junction of alley and larger street. It was as she clambered over the spilled crates that an odd popping sounded in her ears, and a cacophony of sounds assaulted her; Harry's hands flew automatically to cover her ears, and she tumbled to the cobbled street - only she didn't land on stone. With a muffled shriek, Harry scuttled backwards, scraping her palms on the rough ground as she did so.

She had landed on a person. Gingerly, Harry approached the body, her mouth dry and her heartbeat pounding erratically in her ears, drowning out all other noises: were they dead? Only after Harry let out a long sigh of relief at sight of breath fogging from the body's mouth did she realize she'd forgotten to breathe. _What I wouldn't give to be able to do a simple Lumos_, Harry thought as she reached out and pulled the unconscious stranger's hood back. The moon was new, so all the light she had came from the flames of the building burning not five feet away; the only reason she wasn't sweltering in her skin were the protection runes and spells that all buildings had to have according to regulation.

The person, Harry was surprised to see, was a woman, with a pale, heart-shaped face and somewhat limp hair of an indeterminate color; in the dark, it could've been anywhere from dark blonde to grey.

Calmer now, Harry's mind began to race ahead, sounding out scenarios. _What if the cloaked men come back? What if the Chimera collapses? What if _\- she shivered - _a vampire comes along? _She didn't know where in the Lower Alleys she was - last time she'd been at the Spitting Chimera, she'd been a bit preoccupied - but she reckoned that they all looked similar at night, especially with the snow that coated the roofs and made small drifts against buildings. _What can I do?!_ she thought desperately, looking around her. The wooden signs on those few buildings close enough for her to see weren't friendly ones: an antique shop for Dark items; a gambling den, its fuggy windows glowing with orange light; an ancient-looking horologists, with clocks of all sorts in the window, one lit up from the back so that Harry could see the time even from across the street (only ten past twelve); and, judging from the voluptuous silhouette on the sign next to the clock shop, a brothel.

Harry glanced from the woman to the brothel's door: too far to get without magic. She had never felt more like swearing, but didn't dare; who knew whose attention it might bring.

"Think like Alex," Harry muttered to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. "What would Alex do?!" Her brother's most mischievous smile flashed before her eyes, and she felt her own mouth quirk in response. "Thanks, Alex," she murmured as she first patted down the witch, and then carefully searched the ground around them. The witch had fallen on top of her own wand, but, thankfully - for both of them - it hadn't broken. Harry gave it an experimental wave. A single, weak-looking pink spark fell from the tip. "Good enough," Harry told herself, standing up and squaring her shoulders.

It took two tries, but eventually Harry got the unhappy wand to work, hovering its mistress the fifteen yards down the lane and across the street to the dimly-lit brothel. Just as Harry began to lower the woman to the ground, a burst of noise jolted her, and her spell broke. Harry winced as the woman's head struck the door with a loud _thump_. She was tempted to wait, to see if anyone would even _come _to the door this early on Christmas Day, but now there was an animalistic roar, that started out as a growl so low that it rattled her lungs in her chest before it climaxed to a howl of sheer hate and agony. Her hair stood on end as every fiber in her being screamed at her to _run_, to run far and fast and never look back.

But then - "RALPH! NO!" Harry had only heard the voice twice before, but there was no mistaking it: the Rogue King was in the middle of whatever was going down. Not that she'd ever really expected otherwise, but a girl could hope.

A scream - both too shrill and too deep - a sound no human could make - echoed into the night sky, lasting too long. Something was happening; something bad, so bad that Harry didn't think she had the vocabulary to properly express how bad it truly was. And the King was there - the King to whom she owed a life-debt.

"Bloody buggering hell!" Harry swore, and, turning her back on the woman, she sprinted off towards where the screams had come from, towards from whence came the sounds of a battle. The invisibility cloak flapped uselessly around her as she ran down a long, angled street but she didn't dare take it off - the noise hadn't only alerted her to the battle, and lights were coming on in windows as people began to get curious. Hopefully, they wouldn't notice a pair of feet running along by themselves.

Harry slipped and skidded on the wet cobbles as she rounded first one corner, and then another, but in no more than a minute could've passed before she was forced to slow down in order to pick her way through fallen bodies - some ominously silent, others groaning in pain. None of them noticed her as she eased between them, careful not to call attention to herself, even if she now had a means of protecting herself, having neglected to return the injured woman's wand. After nearly tripping on the invisibility cloak's hem while stepping over an unnaturally bent leg, she took it off and, after rolling it up as small as she could, stuffed it into the inner pocket of her cloak, where it bulged conspicuously.

The battle was at the junction of two wide lanes - the one she'd come down, and the one it dead-ended into - with a smaller, darker path leading off between the tall, shabby-looking buildings. It seemed that the further back she got into the Lower Alleys, the more decrepit the surroundings became, a stark contrast to the bright, clean store-fronts of Diagon Alley - or even the Flower District.

Harry's eyes picked keenly through the fighters. The majority were the large, bulky figures of werewolves, easily picked out from the rest of the fast-moving shapes by their eyes, which flashed yellow whenever the light from passing spells - of which there were surprisingly few - and the flickering torches that curious bystanders had lit. Most of the werewolves were fighting tooth and nail and knife against vampires, of which there were an almost equal number; the snarling and growling and hissing that came from the brawling pairs was alarming in its intensity. Clearly, something had happened to aggravate the already poor relations between the two magical species. Scattered amongst the vampires and werewolves were other magical species - a pair of hags ripping into a warty, under-sized troll; a single goblin, pointed teeth bared as his swords flashed in bloody arcs, seemingly uncaring of whom he was attacking - but the only wizard Harry could spot was the King; the rest had, it seemed, been targeted early on, likely to even out the odds, as even vampires were at a disadvantage against competent wand wielders. Either way, the only person on the battlefield using magic was the King - and he didn't use it often, only as a way to stay alive against his six vampiric attackers.

Harry, although a complete stranger to the odd politics of the Lower Alleys, could make an educated guess about the reason for the fighting: the vampires were incensed at the death of one of their own. Guilt and – oddly enough – embarrassment flooded her stomach as she watched the King fight.

Despite facing a half dozen vampires on his own, the King was managing to fend them off with his wand in his left hand and a long, curved dagger in the other. But the vampires kept on finding ways to get past his wand and knife; even as Harry watched, four of the vampires attacked the on the King's right, while the other two took advantage of the distraction to slash at him from behind. Somehow, the King managed to evade one of the knives by twisting gracefully, but the other opened a large gash across his back, joining his other, far less dangerous, wounds. Harry felt like swearing as a sudden force tugged at her belly, somewhere between her navel and her heart; now that she was here, now that she could see the King and the danger he was in, the Life Debt had activated full-force; unless she wanted her mind to be ripped apart by her own magic, she had to do something.

After that, everything moved very quickly; she wasn't sure how she knew where to put her feet to avoid the slippery splotches of blood - and other fluids - but somehow she managed not to trip. The King's wound had distracted all of the vampires in the area, and the werewolves didn't hesitate to use the split-second of laxity to take down - or at least drive off - some of their attackers. But the hit against the King only served to incite his opponents, and in the next few seconds - the amount of time it took Harry to line up a line of sight on the nimblest of the six vampires facing the King - he was cut twice more: once on the arm, and once across his cheek. Both were deep, and the tugging at her stomach devolved into a deep-seated burn.

She wasn't sure she knew what spell to use – although Quirrell had briefly talked about vampires the year before, and Lockhart claimed to have fought some off himself, Harry didn't know any spells that might work against them, except…

"Lumos solem." She didn't shout it out, but neither did she whisper. Instead, she closed her eyes as a bright nimbus surrounded the tip of her borrowed wand before flaring out like a star in supernova: large, dazzling, and shockingly pink. A quirk of the wand, no doubt; Harry couldn't bring herself to care - she was just glad that the stranger's wand had worked for her.

Still, though, it wasn't easy, forcing her magic through the unwelcoming wand, so different from the way it would sing through her own.

Time stretched on - how much, she didn't know - and she started to tremble with the effort the spell was taking. Clearly, it was a spell meant for more developed witches and wizards, who'd have enough practice and a core large enough support the more-difficult derivative of the simple lighting charm that Harry had learned how to do her very first night at Hogwarts.

By the time the muscles in her legs were starting to feel like overcooked noodles, Harry was sure that at least five minutes had passed. Her head was starting to feel like she was too far up in the sky to breathe properly - it'd happened before, at Quidditch practice last year - but still, she kept the spell going, dredging up the will and magic from depths she hadn't known she had. She didn't know anything except for the bright light that shone brilliantly even through her eyelids and the slowly-lessening burning of the Life Debt in her sternum; her focus on keeping the spell going, not letting it falter, was so complete that even when the burn leveled out, she hardly spared it more than a moment's thought.

But when a hand landed on her shoulder, she jumped. The spell fizzled out, her attention broken, and she sagged at the sudden backlash, feeling empty and full and weak all at once. Strong arms caught her and steadied her as she swayed dangerously on the spot.

"All right, little lordling?"

Harry knew the voice, even if it was rough at the moment. She made an effort to open her eyes; it took a full five seconds for her muscles to obey, but then she was looking out at the carnage left from the battle. Given how many bodies had been sprawled out just minutes before, the lack of mess was surprising. There were still a good dozen dead bodies with grey sheets draped over them, as well as at least twice that number of injured spread around the street junction, doing their best to patch themselves or their neighbors up. A large group of men - with a few women mixed in as well - were clustered together under the eaves of a chandlery.

"Harry. _Harry_."

She became aware that the King was shaking her slightly. She swatted his hands away - tried to, in any case, because her hands moved far too lethargically to do anything more than bat weakly at his wrists.

He snorted, and she looked up at him. His cuts had been crudely healed - only barely scabbed over; Madam Pomfrey would've had a fit if she'd been there - but blood still streaked his skin, some of it dried and crusty, some of it still fresh enough to reflect torchlight. "Y'okay?" she mumbled, hand spasming around the borrowed wand as her muscles finally began to relax.

"Better off than you, apparently," the King said dryly. "And I was nearly stabbed." He frowned and rubbed his chest with his free hand. The fabric of his loose shirt was cleanly sliced where one of the vampires' knives had scored a hit.

"M'fine," Harry protested, struggling away from his grip to stand on her own. She managed to keep upright for a full three seconds before the ground seemed to tilt alarmingly and she stumbled sideways into the King's hip.

"Yeah, sure." He didn't sound as light-hearted as he had before, though, and when he removed the wand from her grasp, she understood why. "Where'd you get this?" His voice was sharper now, filled with command.

"Found it," Harry managed to say. She was able to speak properly now, at least.

"And its owner?"

"Wouldn' wake up. I got her help, I think."

"You think?"

"Whorehouse didn't answer b'fore I came here."

His face was completely blank as he scrutinized her, and his hand on her shoulder tightening until, suddenly, he nodded sharply. "Matt!" he barked out. A few people turned at the abrupt shout, but upon seeing who it was, they turned back to their own business. A slender yet wiry man detached himself from the large group and jogged over. Harry saw, as he drew closer, that he had four white scars across his upper arm, clearly visible against tanned skin; despite the frigid weather, he was wearing only a waistcoat and a pair of tight leather trousers, neither of which had so much as a thread out of place. _Werewolf_, she thought immediately. It was the only way he'd be able to be out like that on a night so cold.

"Your majesty," the werewolf offered with an elegant sweeping bow.

"Here." The King thrust the wand at Matt. "It's Nymphie's. She should be at Sugarplum's; she'll want that back."

With another, "Your majesty," Matt took the wand and trotted away. Harry watched him until he disappeared down a narrow and dark alley, but even then she continued to stare after him, dazed by the events of the night.

"Let's go," the King said, pulling her from her stupor. With great effort, Harry tugged forward what little she'd taught herself of Occlumency, and tried to shove her exhaustion and the roiling bundle of emotions from everything that had happened since Flooing from Longbottom Manor to the back of her mind. It worked, a little; she still felt like she could sleep for a month, and her confusion, disbelief, fear, and elation had hardly diminished - they just felt further away, somehow. Maybe she was going into shock.

"Come on, snap out of it." The King's voice was stern and held a command in it, and Harry found herself obeying without thinking.

"Where're we going?"

"A medi-witch, to get some real healing done." He nodded to the group of werewolves as they passed, and then pulled Harry into a tavern. She took one look at the scantily-clad witch sitting provocatively on an overturned cauldron, which was polished to such a degree that she could see her own distorted reflection even from half a room away, before resolutely crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the King's back as he navigated through a mess of tables and chairs, few of which were empty. It seemed that even this early on Christmas morning, the Lower Alleys were busy.

The King didn't bother to ask the proprietor, a buxom woman with poorly colored hair and too much makeup, for permission to use the Floo at the very back of the room; instead, he just tossed in a pinch of Floo powder from the tin on the mantel, gave a curt nod to the room at large, and pulled Harry into the green flames with him. "Herberts and Rose Herbal Remedies."

Harry immediately decided that taking the Floo with someone besides her twin was extremely awkward. Alex was really the only person who she had regular intimate contact with - sure, the boys on the Quidditch team would slap her back for encouragement, or playfully punch her arm, but that wasn't the same. She and Fred and George had rubbed elbows often enough on their nighttime forays – and shoulders during one close call with Filch - or when they needed a third set of hands and Lee wasn't interested in helping, but there was a camaraderie amongst them that she most certainly did not have with the King. His presence was overwhelming. He took up far too much of the limited space in the chimneys, and even though the journey was a short one - only from one part of the Lower Alleys to another - by the time their spinning slowed, she was only too glad to leave the stifling, ashy fireplace.

The room they had Flooed into was dark, and was imbued with the pungent yet clean odor that she associated with the Hospital Wing. There were low shelves arranged to form aisles in the small area in front of the counter with which they were just to the right of, and taller ones that stretched to the ceiling on the two walls than ran the length of the shallow room.

"This way," the King said before Harry could ask why they were there even though the shop was very clearly closed.

They didn't get far before a light bloomed near the dark rectangle that the King had been aiming for. A short, plump figure that reminded Harry very much of Mrs. Weasley bustled out, tying a dressing gown shut.

"What've you gotten into now, Liam," the woman asked exasperatedly. Harry, now that they had stopped moving, leaned against the glass case that served as the counter. The woman tsked. "And now you've gone and dragged a girl into your mess. For shame! I thought I raised you better!"

* * *

The King - Liam - turned to her with an incredulous expression on his face.

Harry did her best to ignore him, and, straightening to her full height, spoke to the woman. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, ma'am," she said in a polite yet stiff voice, suddenly glad that her emotions were already in so much turmoil that the panic didn't do much more than make her heart beat a little faster. "I'm a boy."

The woman scoffed, whipping a wand out from her hair, which promptly spilled down her back. With a smooth wave of her wand, the woman's hair gathered itself into a loose braid, and with another little flick, more lights began to glow, so Harry could see her for the first time.

Immediately, she realized that the woman was Liam's mother; they shared the same sensitive mouth, grey-hazel eyes, and wavy brown hair.

"Don't be dim. I know a girl when I see one," the King's mother insisted, fumbling around under the counter, not even bothering to look at Harry. "Here," she added, thrusting a large jar filled with an unattractive green paste - a paste that Harry recognized as a very high-quality bruise balm, the stuff that Oliver kept a stash of in the locker rooms in case Fred and George got too enthusiastic during practice - into the King's hands.

He was still staring at her, but now he was contemplating her, eyes dragging over her face and flickering down to her body. She was very glad she was still wearing her dark cloak. He frowned. "Why?" he asked, finally, unscrewing the top of the container, setting both parts down on the counter. "You're from a highborn family – you've no reason to deceive people."

"Maybe I just like dressing like a boy," Harry said evenly, although inwardly she was seething. Stupid medi-witches and their interfering. At least Madam Pomfrey liked to pretend Harry was a boy.

The King shook his head. "There's more to it." Harry pressed her lips tightly together and said nothing more as the King began to apply the paste to his bruises and poorly-healed wounds. She waited until he'd tugged on a shirt that his mother Summoned from wherever the adjoining rooms were before speaking.

"I've paid my debt," she bit out, daring him to try and contradict her. He'd saved her life, and she'd saved his. "So I'll just be leaving now."

The King frowned, but Harry swore she saw his mother smirk – though when she took a second glance, the medi-witch's face was as blank and business-like as ever as she ground some comfrey in a mortar.

Harry marched over to the empty hearth. "Would you mind terribly?" she asked politely, with just the smallest amount of sarcasm.

The King strode over, and Harry noticed that he didn't seem as…_kingly_ as he usually did. That indefinable air of superiority she'd noticed that first day they'd met was gone; he seemed younger, now, more vulnerable. He drew his wand, and Harry turned expectantly to the hearth.

"Just one more thing," the King said lightly, and Harry immediately tensed, and then relaxed as the metal band of the ring he'd given her pressed into her Quidditch-callused hands.

She took it off and tried to hand it to him, but the King just shook his head. "Not that. You can keep it – it hardly fits me, anyhow. I want to know your name. Your real name."

Harry gaped at him, taken aback at the request, hand clenching over the ring. "But – I don't owe you – "

"Actually, you do," the King said, and his eyes took on a steely cast. "You asked for a favor when you requested information on thestrals."

Harry grimaced. She'd completely forgotten about that. "And you want to waste that on my _name_?" There was no reply, just a hard stare. She sighed. "Harriet." He crooked an eyebrow. Harry glared before spitting out, "Harriet Potter. Now light the thrice-damned fire!"

The King ignored her demand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Harriet. Please, call me Liam."

"I'll call you whatever I please, thanks," she snapped, at the end of her tethers. She'd had more than enough for one night; all she wanted to do was get back to Longbottom Manor and sleep for a good eight hours (which was doubtful, at this point).

The King gave her a crooked grin. "As your Ladyship pleases," he said with a flamboyant bow. Harry narrowed her eyes until she had an expression that would've sent Fred and George scrambling for their Beater's bats.

"I'm no lady," she said, anger making her words clipped. "Just light the bloody fire."

And, at last, he did. She dropped the ring on the stone mantle where it clinked loudly, giving him a poisonous glare all the while, and made sure to whisper, "Longbottom Manor," but by the smug grin on his face, barely visible through the flickering green flames, Liam had heard her anyways.


	13. Chapter 13

When Harry stepped out from the Floo, she was relieved beyond words to see that the sitting room was empty; she'd half expected Neville to be waiting in the armchair. She heaved a sigh and extracted her wand from her cloak's inner pocket, where it'd been safe during her outing. A quick cooling charm had the flickering remnants of the fire she'd started hardly an hour before diminishing until, at last, they vanished. Frowning, Harry cast the charm again; it worked better this time, and the coals lost their red-orange glow quickly.

The journey back to her room wasn't nearly as nerve-wracking as traveling down to the sitting room had been – likely because she was too tired to really care about whether or not she knocked into any decorations; it hardly mattered, really, since they were all Stuck down.

It was with a grateful sigh that Harry eagerly pushed her door open. She closed it tightly behind her, and began to shuck her clothes as she headed for the bathroom; the invisibility cloak landed in her trunk, and her thicker winter cloak ended up draped haphazardly over a bedpost. Harry had just begun to toe her boots off when a voice exclaimed, "Merlin, Harry, what've you done to your face?!"

Harry jumped and spun around, nearly tripping over the shoe that she'd only just managed to take off. "Neville?"

The lights slowly lit, until their glow was enough to illuminate the room but not too horribly bright. Neville was sitting on the window seat, legs folded underneath him, staring at her with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked, eyebrows pinched together.

Harry rubbed the back of her neck in frustration. How was she supposed to explain this? She could lie, but she'd feel terrible afterwards, and Neville likely knew her well enough to know if she did. Breathing out heavily through her nose, Harry returned to taking off her other shoe. "I'm fine," she said once her shoe had joined its mate in the vicinity of her trunk.

Neville stayed silent for a long moment while she placed her wand on the bedside table and found a pair of pajamas. "Where'd you go?" he asked quietly once she'd straightened up.

Harry turned to face him. Curiosity was written across his somewhat-pudgy features, as well as worry and hurt. Her insides pinched uncomfortably; she'd made him feel like this.

"I suppose I owe you the truth, don't I?" She didn't wait for him to try and formulate a response; instead, she closed the lid of her trunk and sat on it. "That ring wasn't a birthday gift," she blurted out. It was the easiest place to start. "I had a Floo mishap during summer, the day after my birthday, and ended up in the Lower Alleys." She heard Neville suck in a breath. "Things went bad pretty fast, but some bloke stepped up and saved me."

"Life debt?" Neville asked. He almost sounded resigned.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. He called it in tonight."

The silence became unbearable, and she glanced over at Neville in time to catch the tail end of a nod. "Okay."

Harry relaxed. Neville understood. She didn't know why she hadn't expected him to – he was raised just the same as her, with the same stories and traditions and expectations. Well, not quite the same, but close enough. Hermione would've wanted to know more, would've pried and questioned, but Neville was content to just let it be. "Thank you." She couldn't remember ever uttering the words with such sincerity.

"Yeah." After another long stretch of silence, Neville said, "Good night, then."

Harry smiled at him. "See you in a few hours."

He grinned back. "Don't know if I'll be able to sleep – presents, and all."

Harry shook her head. "I can't wait to get to sleep."

Neville eyed her carefully. "I'll bet," he said. It was the most sarcastic thing she'd ever heard him say. "Night," he repeated, and before Harry had a chance to reciprocate the wish, he was gone.

Still smiling, she made her way to the bathroom, grimacing when the mirror clucked loudly at her appearance. She couldn't help but wince when she saw the soot and small amounts of blood that had somehow gotten onto her face – not to mention that her hair, normally raven black, looked nearly grey from the ashes of the Spitting Chimera. It was with relief that she stepped into the shower, eager to rinse off the night's traces.

* * *

True to her prediction, she and Neville saw each other far sooner than Harry felt was acceptable. He woke her up with an annoyingly cheerful, "Lovely morning, today."

Harry was awake immediately – it being far later than she normally woke up – but still just groaned and burrowed further under the covers.

"Come on," Neville said. Harry could hear the excitement in his voice. "Presents!" She was reminded forcibly of Ron's excitement last Christmas, although Neville's exclamation was far less ebullient than Ron's had been.

"Alright, I'm getting up." She threw her covers back and then scrambled for her dressing gown. While it was nowhere near as cold as Hogwarts was apt to get during the winter, it was still a far cry from summer weather in Wales. Only once she'd tugged on a pair of socks and stuffed her feet into her slippers did she turn to the fidgeting Neville. "Ready?"

"I was waiting for you!" Neville complained, but was already heading for the still-open door. Harry followed him through the halls. It seemed like far more time than eight hours had passed since she'd last walked them.

The Dowager, Enid, and Algie were already in the sitting room they'd decorated just the day before. Harry was glad it wasn't the one she'd Flooed out of last night – she probably would've spent the entire morning staring at the fireplace. Instead, she was able to devote all of her attention to the gifts under the tree. Neville had already greeted his elders and was starting to hand the presents out, making piles near two wingbacked chairs where, presumably, he and Harry would sit.

Harry joined him in sorting the gifts after greeting the Dowager, Enid, and Algie, all of whom wished her a happy Christmas in return. Within a few minutes, all of the presents were with their respective recipients, and Harry's enthusiasm was growing. She hadn't had time to get properly excited for the holiday – first with Cedric's attack, and then with the impending repayment of her debt – but now she didn't have anything larger to worry about. The attacks and her ability to speak Parseltongue fell to the wayside as she picked her first gift from the pile.

It was from Hermione. As with the gift Hermione had sent for Harry's birthday, it was Quidditch themed: a thick book titled _Enchanting Your Way to the Sky_. Harry was impressed, and only grew more-so as she flipped to the table of contents. Not only was there an entire section devoted to the history of wizarding flight, but there were also spells for the upkeep, improvement, and even creation of a broomstick. She glanced over at Neville – he too had opened Hermione's gift first, and, like Harry, had received a book.

"What's yours about?" Harry asked, gently setting her new book on the table between their chairs.

"Evolution and the fossil history of plants." Harry frowned. "It's a muggle book," Neville offered slowly, "but there's some really interesting things in here! The earliest known land plant fossil was found in Rhynie! That's not too far from Hogwarts!"

"May I see?" the Dowager inquired. Neville nodded, and in short order the book was floating gently across the room to where the older generation was sitting by the fire.

While they peered at the small print and exclaimed over the unmoving photographs, Harry worked her way through the rest of her pile of gifts. There was a hand-carved chess set from Alex; an elegant set of potions knives from her father – self-sharpening and, with the exception of a single silver blade, made from the most expensive steel; from Remus, Harry received an odd, cylindrical package that contained a rolled-up watercolor of a brilliant red dragon, with several Chinese characters near the top – it was quite beautiful, yet masculine enough that it wouldn't look strange if she hung it up in the dorm. Neville's gift – the one he'd been working on the day before – was one of the silvery birch and unicorn tree hybrids she'd so admired in the Flower District, still just a sapling, although Neville eagerly told her that it would grow to the size of a smallish unicorn tree within a few years if planted in the ground. The Dowager presented her with a rather nice pair of fur-lined leather gloves in the Potter colors of brown and gold. Fred had signed his gift of assorted truffles from both himself and George; his sister Ginny had put her own gift of an embroidered handkerchief inside of her mother's package, which included a knitted sweater and a small tin of fudge.

"That was kind of Mrs. Weasley," Neville commented thickly through a mouthful of fudge that he'd gotten from one of his distant cousins. He hadn't received anything from any of the Weasleys, but didn't seem to mind. Even without a gift from the red-headed family, his pile of presents was still larger than Harry's; apparently his family was either more invested in the holiday season than her own, or there were more of them. Harry suspected that it was a combination of both, as well as the fact that the Dowager held a significant amount of political influence, and one of the easiest ways to get into her good graces was to not get out of them in the first place.

* * *

After an enjoyable morning of further investigating their gifts and intermittent snacks – Harry was thoroughly sick of fudge by noon – the Dowager insisted that the five of them take a stroll through the grounds. Enid made several rude comments, but finally agreed to go along with the rest of them.

Neville and Harry quickly pulled ahead of the older group, and, bored at their slow pace, began to build a snowman, working together to roll as large as a base as they could. Harry was working on smoothing out the top of the base when a sooty owl swooped low and landed on top of the large ball before holding out its leg. Harry quickly untied the small envelope; the owl took off almost before she finished loosening the last knot.

"Who's it from?" Neville huffed out as he pushed the middle part for the snowman towards her.

"I don't know," Harry replied slowly. There was no address on the outside of the envelope, and she didn't have any other gifts she was expecting, what with Cedric being Petrified, but the owl had quite clearly landed in front of her. She inspected the wax - the seal was one she hadn't ever seen before: a blooming rose over a shallow cauldron.

"Open it, then," Neville urged, before hoisting the ball of snow on top of the first.

Harry hesitated, and then carefully pulled off one of her new gloves and slitted the envelope open with her finger. Although the envelope itself was small, the single piece of parchment within was even smaller, and contained only five words: _Keep it. I'll owe you_. Harry recognized the handwriting at once, and when she tipped the envelope over her hand, the small bronze ring fell into her palm.

"He sent it back?" Neville asked, a note of panic in his voice. "Does he not think the debt repaid."

"No, he does," Harry assured him as she stared at the ring, trying to decide whether or not she would - should - accept it. In the end, the fact that he would owe her won over her pride; better to have a favor if she needed it then to have to owe him one later. Plus, the ring was quite pretty, but masculine enough that, aside from Neville, none of her roommates or fellow Quidditch players had commented on it. She slid it on, only to have Neville grab her hand and try to tug it off. "What are you doing?!"

"What are _you_ doing?!" Neville shot back, still trying to remove the ring; his gloved hands made the task next to impossible, and Harry was able to snatch her hand back.

"He doesn't want the ring back!" she exclaimed, tugging her glove back on. "It doesn't fit him anymore, and he wants me to have it. He said that if I keep it, he'll owe me."

"Owe you what?" Neville asked, somewhat calmer but still suspicious.

Harry paused, a scathing reply on her tongue. "I - he didn't say," she said instead. She reread the short note; she had only assumed that he was speaking of favors.

Neville shook his head. "Gran always says to read the fine print before agreeing to anything," he sighed. "What's done is done."

"It's fine," Harry said, although she wasn't so sure. What if she _had_ done something wrong - what if she'd agreed to something she hadn't meant to? "He wouldn't do anything underhanded." But still - one didn't get to be the Rogue King without being cunning and brave and intelligent. "He wouldn't," she insisted.

Neville didn't say anything else on the matter. "Why don't you roll the head while I find some sticks for arms," he offered.

Glad for the change in subject, Harry agreed and began to pack snow into a sphere.

* * *

The rest of the holidays passed in an easy routine, the days sliding together until Harry found herself back on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, dragging her trunk to the train and levitating it onto a rack next to Neville's. Hermione joined them not long after, and their conversation of holiday tales lasted until the sweet trolley stopped by. After that, silence smothered the cabin, broken only by the sounds that train made as it steamed steadily north.

At Hogwarts, it was readily apparent which students had stayed for the holidays. The few students who hadn't gone home were pale, drawn, and had an air of terror about them that seemed to infect the rest of the students before the welcoming feast was over. Just as the puddings melted into nothingness, Headmaster Dumbledore stood and addressed the Great Hall.

"I welcome each and every one of you back to Hogwarts for the new term, and hope that your holidays were merry and full of cheer." Harry glanced down the Gryffindor table to where the remaining Weasleys were clustered. Little Ginny had two of her roommates with her, while Seamus and Dean sat to one side of Ron. Fred's face was so utterly blank of emotion that he could've been wearing a mask. "The castle has been thoroughly searched for the any trace of the perpetrator. Nothing was found to indicate that a member of the staff or the students population is at fault. However, this does not mean that the safety measures instituted last term should be ignored. The curfew and roll-calls are still in effect, so be careful to be present for all of them. Additional measures have also been put into effect. All corridors now have a portrait that will alert all four Heads of House and myself should anything seem amiss, and the common room entrances will be locked after the evening attendance has been taken." Dumbledore paused and stared out at the students with a grave expression. "We hope that these new measures will prevent any more attacks from taking place. If you think you might have an idea of what might be doing this, then please, do not hesitate to talk to any prefect or member of the staff." He swept the room with his gaze once more. "That will be all for tonight. Prefects, please lead your Houses to your common rooms. Heads will be there shortly to take roll."

After Professor McGonagall left, the Gryffindor common room stayed silent. Ten students were missing. Colin and George were Petrified; eight others had been kept home by their parents, including the Patil twins (Harry could only assume that Padma was gone as well), Lee Jordan, and the fifth-year Prefect Tegan Hughes.

"I'm going to bed," Harry said to Neville and Hermione after a few minutes of uncomfortable, forced conversation.

Neville stood up as well. "I'll come with you." After bidding Hermione good night, the two of them tromped up the stairs to their room. Only a few minutes passed before Ron, Seamus, and Dean joined them.

"Me Mam tried to keep me back," Seamus said quietly as the five of them dressed in silence, backs turned towards each other. "But me Pap wouldn't hear of it; said the best place for me was where I can learn to protect meself."

"I didn't tell my Mum," Dean confided, his trunk lid slamming shut with unnatural loudness. "She's stressed enough as it is."

Ron said nothing; Harry was surprised that any of the Weasleys had returned, but supposed that nothing could've kept Percy from his studies or Fred from being able to visit George in the Hospital Wing.

"Gran trusts that Dumbledore's doing everything he can to keep us safe," Neville said after they'd all crawled into their beds. Harry could only just see his profile from where she lay, curled up on her side.

Ron scoffed bitterly from his bed. "It's not enough."

"He's doing his best," Harry said softly. "If he wasn't, I wouldn't be here. My brother offered me sanctuary at his school after Cedric was attacked. If I thought it wasn't safe, I wouldn't still be here."

No one said anything after that, but sleep was a long time in coming.

* * *

January was quiet, and Harry found herself starting to believe that either the culprit had given up, or that the new protective measures were too much for them to overcome. She wasn't the only one, either; the mood in the castle had lightened considerably, and the Gryffindor common room had regained much of its usual cheer. Only the absence of Fred and George's usual boisterous antics reminded Harry that something was still out there, no matter how dormant it was. That, and Hermione had finally put together a working theory on how Harry was able to speak Parseltongue.

"Look," Hermione said, towards the end of the month, laying out an intricate and very extensive family tree, at the top of which was the name Salazar Slytherin. "I've put this together from a number of books. For sure we know that the Peverell brothers were the great-grandsons of Slytherin by way of his daughter, whose son gave her three grandsons: the eldest, Antioch; the middle, Cadmus; and the youngest, Ignotus.

"Antioch never married, but he fathered a son, who took his mother's name of Black. It is unknown if any Blacks have ever spoken Parseltongue, but there is the possibility that the trait has been passed down. Cadmus married and had two daughters, both of whom are recorded as being Parselmouths. One died before getting married - stoned by a mob, actually, at age ten - while the other married into the Gaunt family, which has since died out. The last Peverell, Ignotus, changed his name to Potter. That's your family, Harry."

Neville and Harry were both lost for words. "I - my family's descended from _Slytherin_?!" she finally managed to get out. "But that's - I mean - I'm _not_ the Heir! I swear it, on anything you like!"

"Shh!" Hermione hushed her, glancing around the library nervously. There were always at least two Prefects in the library for students' safety, and Madam Pince patrolled more often than she used to. "You're right," Hermione soothed. Neville was still staring, dumbstruck, at Harry. "You're not the heir of Slytherin, you're more of a back-up, if anything. Slytherin's son's great-granddaughter married into the Gaunt family, so the Gaunts were his heirs. The only way you'd be able to claim the Slytherin heritage is if you went to Gringotts and demanded a blood test, right, Neville?"

"I - yeah. Sorry, Harry, it's just - Gran would have a fit if she knew that a Founder's scion had stayed at her house." Harry scowled at him, and he quickly turned to Hermione. "I take it you read those books, then? D'you need more?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've still got three more to read. Old Gaelic isn't very easy to translate without the proper references. But back to the Parseltongue - here, look at this tree." She drew out another family tree, much less intricate than the first. "This is where all of the trees get tricky. With the exception of the Gaunt line, there haven't been any other Parselmouths since the Peverells themselves, and even that is heavily debated. But I think that the trait is recessive." At Harry and Neville's blank expressions, she elaborated. "It's carried on the X chromosome, and needs two to activate in females, and only one in males." Harry frowned, even more confused. "What's a chromosome?" she asked.

Hermione's eyes widened. "You mean you don't know? But - that's - "

"Is it something Muggle?" Neville asked, almost eagerly. "Because that book you sent me was - "

"Yes, yes, it's Muggle," Hermione interrupted, clearly upset by their complete lack of knowledge. "It's made of DNA - that's short for Deoxyribonucleic acid - and codes everything about a person from their hair color to any allergies they might have. How - I just don't understand how wizards can ignore such a powerful avenue of research!" Harry's head was spinning; she didn't understand what Hermione had tried to explain in the least, and decided to put it aside for a later time.

"So, what you're saying is that one of my parents was a Parseltongue? But that doesn't make sense! My Father certainly can't speak to snakes, and my Mum was a Muggleborn!"

"I know, and that's why it took me so long to figure this all out! Since you're a boy, you had to get the trait from your Mum, because girls have XX chromosomes and boys have XY. So since you got your Y from your dad, then the X had to come from your mum, and that means that your mum wasn't completely muggleborn!"

Harry sat in silence for a long moment, just trying to understand all of the information that Hermione had just spat out. Hermione, though, just kept talking, babbling on about why she wasn't sure her research was correct. "...can't only be recessive since there's been far too many males in the Black and Potter families for the trait to have simply skipped them all, it's not statistically probable, and all of the Gaunts were at least rumored to have been Parselmouths, regardless of gender, which isn't probable either, even disregarding the amount of intermarrying, the trait would've bred out by the seventeenth century, so it might not be truly recessive, just unreliable in the Blacks and Potters, I'm really not sure...maybe it's on the Y? No, otherwise no girls would be Parselmouths and all of the boys would..."

Ten minutes later, Harry spoke for the first time. "Thank you for all of the research work you did," she said slowly, not meeting Hermione's eyes. "I've - It's given me a lot to think about." She purposefully avoided glancing towards Neville. "Do you two mind walking with me back to the Tower? It's almost time for Quidditch practice."

"But I thought practices were cancelled," Hermione started before Neville said quickly, "Sure," and started packing his things into his bag. Hermione followed suit, and Harry led the way through the darkening corridors to Gryffindor tower, where she promptly barricaded herself into the fourth year's dorm room, which had remained empty since the holidays; Fred refused to stay in the room by himself, and had taken up residency with Percy and Oliver instead.

* * *

Harry managed to avoid Hermione and Neville for an entire week before Neville cornered her as she was coming out from the showers after a particularly cold Quidditch practice.

"We don't care," he said stoutly, arms crossed has he blocked her way up the stairs to where she'd been sleeping for the past week. "You could be Slytherin's son himself and we still wouldn't care."

"Ron would care," she shot back.

"Ron's the most prejudiced person in Gryffindor." Unkind, but true. Cormac McLaggen was an arrogant arsehole on the best of days, but he wasn't half as prejudiced as Ron. Harry hesitated, and Neville took advantage of her indecision. "If you don't, I'll tell Wood that you're not eating right."

Harry glowered at him, but finally nodded shortly. "Fine."

* * *

Even after agreeing not to seclude herself anymore, Harry still didn't spend much time with Neville and Hermione. With the rapidly approaching Quidditch Match against Ravenclaw on the first Saturday of March, Harry was spending more and more time either on the pitch or in the small classroom on the sixth floor that Oliver had commandeered as a tactics room, since they were only allowed in the pitch while Madam Hooch was there to supervise.

The entire team was listening to Oliver expound - once again - on a fairly complex Chaser formation when Harry suddenly jerked in her seat, spinning around to stare at the floor. For the first time in months, she'd heard the chilling voice, and this time she wasn't tired or exhausted. _"...ssssoooo hungry...for sssoooo long...masster..."_

"Harry? Are you alright?" Oliver asked, breaking off from his lecture as the entire team stared at her.

Harry nodded, even though she felt faint.

"Are you sure?" Oliver pressed. "You look pale?"

"Not enough to drink," Harry lied. "I'm fine." She waved off the Chasers' concern and avoided Fred's sunken gaze.

Half an hour later, a knock sounded, and before Oliver could scramble to block the Chaser formations from sight, the door opened, a pair of pale-faced Prefects in the doorway. The boy Prefect Harry recognized as Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain Joseph Cadwallader, a seventh year; the girl had long curly blonde hair, and the Ravenclaw crest stood out on her robes.

"The Headmaster requires all students to return to their dorms, immediately," Cadwallader said, his face completely serious.

Harry stood, dizzy. "Who was it?" she asked, hearing her own voice from far away. "Who was attacked?" The rest of her team drew in ragged breaths of surprise and horror; Ron went so far as to make an angry growling squeak.

"Flitwick didn't say," the girl said. "Please, go directly to your common room and follow your Prefects' orders."

"Right," Oliver said, not even bothering to try and cover up his Quidditch plans on the board behind him. "Fred, Ron, get up. I'll take point. Zakir, you and Ryan will bring up the rear. Harry, you follow me; the Weasleys will follow you."

Together, they made their way up to the Gryffindor common room, picking up several smaller groups of Gryffindors as they did. Lavender and Sophie wormed their way into the very middle of the Quidditch team, while Cormac McLaggen and two of his friends followed along behind; no one said a word until they got to the portrait hole, where Oliver barked out the password and let them all go through first. Harry was the first in, and found that most of the House was already there, including Professor McGonagall, who ticked off their names as they entered.

Five minutes later, the last Gryffindor was accounted for, and McGonagall stood. There was no need to ask for silence; the only noise in the room was the crackling of the logs in the fire. "Thank you for your cooperation," she said stiffly. "As you have no doubt already surmised, there has been another attack." A round of mutters started up, and people looked around frantically. Harry already knew that all of the Gryffindors were there - otherwise, there would've been loud objections to McGonagall's standing to begin her speech. "And as I am sure you will figure out who has been attacked anyways, the Headmaster has given permission for names to be given. It was a multiple attack, and thankfully, all three students will recover in time. Terry Boot and Su Li of Ravenclaw, and Justin Finch-Fletchly of Hufflepuff were found just off the library. All side-corridors have been warded; a map of the open corridors will be posted on your bulletin board before morning. All students will remain in the common room for the remainder of the day; dinner will be served at six. If you require a book from the library, you may write down the title and place it in the envelope pinned to the board. The book will be delivered within the hour." Harry watched as Professor McGonagall heaved a tired sigh. "I'm sad to say it, but there may be even more restrictions imposed soon. For the time being, travel in groups of five or more. Mr. Potter, this is for you." Harry stood and wound her way through sitting students to accept a tightly rolled piece of parchment.

"Thanks," she murmured.

Professor McGonagall smiled tightly. "Good night."

As soon as the portrait hole closed behind her, Harry opened the scroll.

_Mr. Potter,_

_I regret to inform you that, until the attacks have subsided, I must cancel your extra  
lessons. In the meantime, keep reading your book, and ask Miss Chloe Gray of seventh  
year for any assistance in practical work, and Mr. Percival Weasley for assistance in  
theory. You may address questions to me in your essays. I am confident that you will  
continue to excel in the subject without my personal attentions._

_Best of luck.  
M. McGonagall_

"What's it say?" Hermione asked shakily, coming up behind Harry.

Harry allowed the parchment to roll shut, and replied, "She's had to cancel my lessons."

"Oh," Hermione said softly. "I'm sorry. I know how much you - "

"It's fine," Harry cut her off, turning towards the staircase to the dormitories. "Really," she added at Hermione's surprised expression. "My not having lessons isn't the worst thing to happen in the castle," she muttered darkly. "I'm going to bed," she said before Hermione could speak. On her way, she glanced bitterly out the window. The skies were clear - rare for February - and the sun had yet to sink behind the mountains. A beautiful day.

* * *

_Jan. 3, 1993  
Dear Madam Longbottom,_

_I am most thankful for your gracious hosting of my presence during the Yule holiday  
season. Your estate is even more beautiful than I was led to believe. I could not have  
asked for a more comfortable accommodations, and your assistance in matters of  
Runic Casting was invaluable. Whenever I wear the gloves you gifted to me, I think  
most fondly of my time in your abode.  
Fond wishes for the new year._

_Deepest Regards,  
Scion H. Potter_

* * *

_Jan. 10, 1993_  
_Dear Alex,_

_Thanks for the chess set. I've already used it twice against Ron (lost both times, sorry).  
Hogwarts has been quiet since our return. Hopefully, whatever it was that was attacking  
is gone; still, I can't bring myself to believe it, no matter how much I'd like to.  
Classes are going well. Hermione has already started to research which electives she  
wants to take next year, even though it was only briefly mentioned by Professor  
McGonagall in Transfiguration. I think I already know what I'm going to take.  
Quidditch hasn't started up quite yet. Oliver's holding out for at least a little bit warmer  
weather, or the first of February, whichever comes first. I'm betting on the first of February._

_Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_**Jan. 18, 1993  
Harry -**_

_**Super busy here right now. I've got massive exams for Astronomy and Law coming  
up soon. Thanks for the hat - my ears are especially thankful now that I can actually  
feel them all the time. I'm glad to hear that the attacks have stopped.**_

_**\- Alex**_

* * *

_Jan. 25, 1993  
Dear Alex,_

_Hermione has a theory on how I can speak Parseltongue - I don't think she even realizes that  
you can't, or she's most likely have to revise it. She kept on talking about chromosomes and  
X's and Y's - muggle science, she called it - but the gist of it is that it's because we're  
descendents of Salazar Slytherin, twice over. Slytherins great-grandsons were the Peverell  
brothers. The youngest changed his family name to Potter; he's our direct ancestor. The oldest  
had a kid with a Black who kept the Black name; that's from Grandmother Dorea's line. Hermione  
said that the trait must be recessive, and needs two to activate, or something like that. It kind  
of makes sense, if you think about it a lot, but I don't know if it actually works because then she  
said something about how the theory would only work if all the boys in the family were Parselmouths,  
and none of you are. And since girls have 'XX' chromosomes instead of 'XY' chromosomes, I had to  
get one of my X's from Dad and the other from Mum. But the whole thing about recessive genes is  
that they only appear when there's two sources: one from Dad, and one from Mum. But Mum's a  
muggleborn, isn't she? That's what Dad and Remus always said.  
Ugh. It's so confusing. I keep on trying to find something that will make it all make sense, but there's  
nothing to help me in the library. Do you think you can take a look into it, since you keep on saying  
that your library's better?_

_Love,  
Harry_

* * *

**_Feb. 1, 1993_**  
**_Harry -_**

**_I'll look into the matter. We've got some muggle Genetics books here, as well as lineage charts.  
Just give me a few months; I've barely got time to sleep as it is._**

**_-Alex_**

* * *

**_Feb. 2, 1993_**  
**_Dearest Harriet,_**

**_Enclosed is your new emergency Portkey; it is one of your Mother's old rings. As always, I want  
you to wear it at all times, and only use it if there is no other option. I do not want to find you in  
the safe house simply on a lark. Study hard; Asclepius assures me that you are doing well._**

**_Love,  
Your Father_**

* * *

_Feb. 18, 1993_  
_Alex -_

_There was another attack - a group of three students in my year, but different houses. New safety measures are  
in place, but I think I heard it happen. No one else heard anything, though. Do you think I'm going mad?! I can't  
even bring myself to ask Neville, and I can tell him anything!_

_-Harry_

* * *

A/N: I am aware that the theory proposed by Hermione is not correct. While I'm not an expert on genetics, there is an explanation for the passing of traits that might hold true (it involves both penetrance and expressivity and is actually rather confusing and probably not entirely correct) but I also have the head-canon that it's only really explainable with a good dash of magic. As if genetics wasn't complicated enough anyways.


	14. Chapter 14

After the triple attack, the Slytherins were walking on air, strutting through the halls like they owned them; with at least one person from the other three houses laying Petrified in the Hospital Wing, the Slytherins clearly felt that they weren't in any danger from whatever it was that was Petrifying students.

One quarter of the student population laughed and sneered as they'd done before Halloween, while the other three quarters muttered, worried, and hid away as well as they could. Even Oliver had become more cautious, moving his Quidditch meetings to his dorm room instead of any of the empty rooms on the seventh floor. Percy and Oliver had had a row right in the middle of the common room about the mess in their dorm until Fred interrupted (only after Percy turned several shades of red) to offer up his room, which was still empty and unused. Oliver was so worried about his team that if he couldn't see them in the common room - because if they weren't in class or on the pitch, the only other place they were allowed to be was in Gryffindor Tower - he'd rush through the boys dorms until he found everyone, one time nearly tearing Harry's bed hangings before she came back from taking a shower and found him looking under Seamus' bed.

It was with great relief that March finally arrived without any more attacks. Harry was especially glad that she wouldn't have to hold Ron back in Potions any more. Malfoy had not only made loud comments about the 'greatly impoverished' and 'pity-founded' Gryffindor Quidditch team, but also had - in hallways with no professors around - expressed, in very rude language, his satisfaction with the Heir of Slytherin. Harry had felt like telling the blonde that _she_ was, in fact, the _real_ Heir of Slytherin, but then realized that, since he too was descended from the Blacks, Malfoy could also claim some relation to Slytherin, as could Ron and any number of other purebloods in the school. Harry just happened to have twice as much of Slytherin's blood as most others. She tried not to let Malfoy's words distract her, but after Potions on the Thursday before the match against Ravenclaw, Harry muttered to Hermione and Neville, "Do you think he knows anything?"

Hermione frowned thoughtfully as they followed their fellow second-years up towards the Great Hall, where they were allowed to wait and do work until dinner was served. "He might," she finally allowed. "Any of the Slytherins might, though. It's impossible to tell."

"Maybe we could try and get Crabbe or Goyle to say something..." Harry mused, only half-joking. At this point, any information was worthwhile.

Neville gave a small snort of laughter. "Harry, I don't think even they're that thick."

"But," Harry pressed on, ignoring Hermione's half-disapproving, half-amused expression, "what if they didn't know I was there?"

"Harry, we don't learn Disillusionment Charms until the very end of seventh year!" Hermione exclaimed, drawing some mutters from nearby portraits.

"What charms?" Harry asked. "No, I wasn't think about magic. I've got something to show you after dinner." For the rest of the evening, she stoutly ignored all of Hermione's guesses and pleas. Finally, when the entirety of Gryffindor house trekked from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower, she lead Hermione and Neville up to her dorm; after locking the door with the most powerful charm she knew, Harry went straight to her trunk and drew out the Invisibility Cloak she'd found amongst her father's old belongings.

"Is that...?" Neville gasped, wide-eyed.

It took Hermione a little longer to understand. "Is that an Invisibility Cloak?" she asked. "Those are very rare, and tend not to last for more than a hundred years or so before the charms wear off. It _is_ Demiguise hide, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know how old it is. I just found it this past summer at home. Alex didn't want it, so I kept it, just in case."

"Can I try it?" Neville asked. Harry handed the Cloak over. Neville put it on immediately, and Hermione spent the next minute looking around the room wildly, trying to see if she could spot Neville at all. It was only his tripping over a pair of Ron's dirty socks that clued Harry in to where he was.

"It works really well," Hermione said. "It must be relatively new."

Harry shrugged again, eager to move on to why she'd finally shared its existence with them. "I suppose. But think about it - one of us just slips into the Slytherin common room and can eavesdrop without being noticed!"

Hermione immediately shook her head. "Harry, it's too dangerous. We can't go wandering around alone! And what're you planning to do about the evening roll-call? Hmm?"

Harry frowned; she hadn't thought about the attendance that was taken twice each night and once every morning. "Well," she said at last, "we don't have to do it at night, do we? We can do it during the day."

"It's still too dangerous," Hermione repeated. "We should let the teachers take care of it."

"They haven't got any more of an idea of what's doing this than we do," Harry snapped, dropped the Cloak into her trunk and letting the lid slam shut. "Otherwise they'd have stopped it already."

"You don't know that!" Hermione protested with a scowl, her arms crossed.

"Yes, I do," Harry shot back. "I was the one who found Colin - Dumbledore hadn't the slightest inkling of what's doing it! And don't you think they'd have taken care of it over the holidays?!"

"Maybe they thought they had! It took a month and a half for another attack to happen!"

"Teachers aren't infallible, Hermione," Harry said coldly. "Just look at Lockhart and Binns."

Hermione flushed a dark pink, scowled, and turned on her heel, marching from the room. "Don't be reckless," she snapped in the doorway, before disappearing down the stairs.

Harry groaned and flopped onto her bed. "What's with her?" she asked the room at large.

Neville, who hadn't spoken for Harry and Hermione's entire row, said quietly, "If something's wrong with her, then it's contagious, because you're just a short-tempered as she is."

"Traitor," Harry muttered to her pillow, before saying sarcastically, "Thanks, Nev." She ignored his attempts to get her to look at him and a few minutes later, she heard the door close after him. "Damn," she growled to her pillow. Upset and angry at her friends, Harry grabbed her school books and pulled the hangings shut around her bed, sticking them together with the weak charm that they'd learned towards the beginning of the year. If they were being unreasonable, then she'd be unreasonable too.

* * *

Harry was extremely glad when Saturday finally dawned; she was the first Gryffindor awake, and was the first member of the Quidditch team to be dressed and ready to play. McGonagall sent Professor Babbling to lead the team to breakfast; after a hasty meal, Oliver forced Percy and Chloe, the female sixth-year Gryffindor Prefect, to escort them out to the Quidditch pitch. Neither of the prefects were happy, especially because it meant that they'd have to sit in the stands for the next forty minutes until the game started.

Harry's irritation from Thursday had carried over to the game; for the first time in her life, she was called on a foul for cobbing the Ravenclaw Seeker Eddie Carmichael after the fellow Seeker had flown so close to her broomtail that his robe had snagged on a few twigs and bent them. Her broom was now dragging horribly in the air, and couldn't make any tight turns.

Oliver immediately called a time out after blocking Ravenclaw Chaser Stretton's penalty shot. "What was that?" he demanded, his feet not even on the ground.

The rest of the team was silent, watching Harry and Oliver, who rarely had negative interactions. "Carmichael managed to catch my twigs on his robes," Harry explained sourly, showing Oliver the damage.

He hissed, puffing up in outrage, but couldn't do anything other than scowl darkly at the huddled Ravenclaw team. "That little scumbag," he muttered. "Sorry, Harry, but you're going to have to fly like that. Rules won't permit a broom-change unless it won't get into the air at all, and even if it was that bad, you're better off on a shaky Nimbus than you'd be on a school broom."

Harry nodded glumly. "No promises on the Snitch, though," she said as Madam Hooch blew her whistle to end the time out. "It's not turning well."

"Just do your best," Oliver called, just before Madam Hooch blasted a single note, and the game restarted.

Harry shot straight up, rocketing past the Ravenclaw Chasers. Even if she couldn't turn, she still had the Nimbus' superior speed on her side. Carmichael stayed close to her tail for a good five minutes before she managed to use the extra drag on the end of her broom to spiral steeply upwards in a thermal. By the time she leveled off, Carmichael was at least fifty feet below her, and she was shivering from the cold, thin air, even through her Seeker's garb. From her vantage point, nearly two hundred feet above the rest of the players, Harry could see all the way to Hogsmeade; she could see where the Forbidden Forest began to climb up nearby mountains.

When she felt her attention begin to stray to the trees - and the thestrals she knew lived within - Harry had to drag her attention back to the game. Angling her broom down, she dove, the wind bringing tears to her eyes even past her glasses. As she entered into the normal playing zone - about thirty feet above the grass of the pitch - both bludgers whooshed past, although neither of them came anywhere close to her. Apparently, even if she hadn't convinced Carmichael that she'd seen the Snitch, the Ravenclaw Beaters weren't so sure. She pulled out of the dive and began another climb, this time leveling out just above the height of the goal-posts.

"Seen the Snitch?" Wood called out as she flew past. She didn't bother answering, and continued on her survey of the pitch.

For another half-hour, the only thing that happened was Ron straining his shoulder after a particularly wonky shot at Stretton that went so wide that it ended up colliding with a second Ravenclaw Chaser, Robert Clearwater. Zakir managed to get ahold of Clearwater's dropped Quaffle. When he scored the Gryffindor spectators cheered wildly, some of them calling out "Weasley! Weasley!". Harry let out an excited whoop and nearly pulled into a celebratory spiral before remembering that her broomtail wasn't fully functional. She settled for pumping her fists in the air, only to nearly fall off her broom when the Snitch flitted past her nose, all but taunting her as it hovered just out of reach.

Within seconds, Harry's hands were back on her broom as she rocketed forward; a growled curse behind her told her that Carmichael had been chasing the Snitch as it neared her, and in the cheering from the crowd, Harry hadn't heard the commentary's announcement of his chase or the crowd's calls like she normally would've; the only reason she had a chance of catching it now was because it had flown right in front of her.

Although the Snitch led Harry and Carmichael on a merry chase around the stadium, going so far as to cut through the teacher's box (Harry heard McGonagall's muffled cheer and Flitwick's excited squeal fade behind her, caught in the wind and wake of their passing). She finally caught it over the Forbidden Forest, not too far from Hagrid's hut. As she turned, a victorious smile on her face as she caught a glimpse of Carmichael's disappointed scowl, she heard a rough cheer from inside Hagrid's hut. Harry's smile deepened, and she turned towards the pitch. The commentator would already know that the Snitch had been caught, but they wouldn't know who had caught it until she - and the Snitch - were back in the bounds of the Stadium.

When she did fly back into bounds, the announcement was almost instantaneous, and the Gryffindor supporters burst into even louder cheers than before. "Gryffindor wins!" the announcer screamed out, and Harry finally realized who it was: Katie Bell, a close friend of Oliver's girlfriend Alicia Spinnet. Although girls weren't allowed to play Quidditch, there was no tradition saying that they couldn't commentate for the sport, and Katie Bell was probably nearly as enthusiastic about Quidditch as Harry herself.

In the locker rooms, Harry's teammates were laughing and joking as they stripped down for the showers. Harry carefully averted her eyes as she traded smiles and had her back slapped several times for having successfully caught the Snitch.

"Good one, Harry!" Aidan congratulated with a wide grin.

"Party!" a voice called into the locker room. Harry thought it sounded like Alicia, or maybe Angelina Johnson. "Hurry up, guys!"

Another voice called in, "Fred, you and Ron go grab the food, will ya?" before the door slammed shut.

Harry took her time untying her shoes, so that by the time she needed to actually take off her jersey, she was the only person not in the showers. She had only just pulled her jumper on when Zakir and Ryan emerged from the showers, steaming, with only towels around their waists.

"See you at the party!" Harry called, scurrying out of the locker room. Hermione and Neville were waiting just outside the door, bundled up.

"Great job, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice somewhat muffled by a Gryffindor scarf.

Harry was glad that their disagreement was forgotten, and smiled at her friends. "Thanks, Hermione. Why'd you wait for me? Weren't the Prefects supposed to take you?"

Neville shrugged. "We know you don't like the showers in the locker room." Harry understood that to mean that they didn't want her to wander through the corridors alone.

"Thanks," she said softly. "C'mon, let's go!"

* * *

Harry joined the party after rinsing off in the showers in the dorm. Most of the team was there already, except Ron and Fred, who she assumed were still in the kitchens. It'd barely been fifteen minutes, and they would most likely be back in a few minutes. She easily spotted Hermione and Neville sitting around a table with Ginny, Seamus, Dean, and another first year girl (Johanna, she thought), playing a very intense game of Exploding Snap. Seamus was faring poorly, judging by his singed eyebrows and blackened nose.

"Who's winning?" she asked, leaning on the table next to Neville, examining his hand, barely hiding a grimace. Unless he discarded them, fast, he would get a very large explosion.

"Ginny," Hermione replied, frowning at her cards in thought before laying down a journeyman.

"Nice," Harry said to Ginny, who met her eyes for a grand total of half a second before staring back at her cards, a flush mounting up her neck to her cheeks. Ginny's roommate giggled and buried her nose in her cards, only to have them explode in her face. The table erupted into laughter - even the now-singed first year laughed, although her face was even redder than Ginny's.

Once the laughter calmed down, Ginny played a card, before saying shyly, "That was a really good catch, Harry."

Harry refrained from pointing out that no one in the stands would've been able to see her when she actually caught the Snitch, although by Hermione's raised eyebrows, she'd already thought of that. Harry waited until Ginny looked back at her cards to offer Hermione a sly smirk.

Seamus dealt Harry into the next hand; she lost terribly two times in a row and was hopeful that she might be able to win her third game when she heard, louder than ever before, the sibilant, chilling voice. _"Masster...thisss one besseechesss...thisss one wantsss flesh and blood...ssso hungry..."_

Harry's cards fluttered to the table, where they promptly exploded. Seamus and Dean snickered, until Hermione demanded, "Harry!? What's wrong?!"

She stood on numb legs. The last time this had happened there'd been a triple attack. "I'll be right back," she said, mouth dry, and wormed her way through the boisterous crowd of Gryffindors to the portrait hole.

"Hey, Potter!" a sharp voice stopped her from leaving the common room. "Where do you think you're going? You're not allowed out without a Prefect or teacher to accompany you." Harry turned; it was Percy, at his pompous best.

"I think - " Harry started, her voice quiet. She could feel herself trembling, and hoped that her robes would disguise most of it; she clenched her hands into fists, just to be sure. " - I think there's just been an attack."

That clearly wasn't what Percy had expected. He spluttered, "Don't be outrageous, Potter. The professors have got the situation under complete control," he added, regaining his composure. "Not to mention, all students are in their common rooms by now."

Harry glanced around the room. Maybe it wasn't a Gryffindor who was in danger, maybe -

"Where's Fred and Ron?" Percy asked sharply. The people nearest to them, who'd been eavesdropping, craned their heads to look around the common room. Hermione came up behind Harry, Neville close on her heels. Ginny, Seamus, Dean, and Johanna milled around uncertainly by Percy's vacated chair. "Ginny? Have you seen them?"

Ginny shook her head, face pale and eyes darting nervously from the portrait hole to the common room.

"OI!" Percy bellowed without warning; the entire room fell silent. Percy Weasley, a Prefect no less, had never _once_ yelled, let alone in the common room. "Has anyone seen Fred or Ron?!"

The silence became uneasy, and people fidgeted where they sat or stood.

Alicia Spinnet stood up from where she'd been perched on Oliver's lap. "Me and Katie told them to get some food for the party on their way up from the changing rooms," she said, face pale.

Oliver spoke from just behind her. "They split off from us in the Entrance Hall." His voice was shaky.

"And you _let_ them?!" Harry demanded, beating Percy to the punch line. "What the _hell_, Oliver!? Have there or have there not been students being Petrified for the last five months!?"

"If they've been hurt - or, or - " Percy couldn't bring himself to say the word, " - I'll never speak to you again, Wood." He pulled himself upright, and Harry could see, for the first time, why Percy Weasley had been Sorted into Gryffindor. "Here's what's going to happen," he said, glaring out at the room, as if daring them to complain or object. "Chloe, you're going to take Abernathy, McClelland, Young, Akram, and Henry and get Professor McGonagall." The female fifth year Prefect nodded and waited for the five other students - all in their last three years of studying, one other also wearing a Prefect badge - before leading them out. Percy talked over their movement and quiet whispering. "Potter, you're going to come with me, Wood, Daniels, and Greer to see if we can - "

"Hold up, Weasley," a tall blonde boy interrupted, clomping down the stairs from the boy's dormitories, a smaller blond boy on his heels. "What's going on?"

"My brothers are missing, and Potter think that there's been an attack," Percy summarized neatly. "I've sent a group of upper years to find McGonagall, and - "

"I'm Senior Prefect," the other boy interrupted, and Harry realized that this was Trevor Fleet, twin brother of Hufflepuff Keeper's Herbert Fleet. "Why didn't you - "

"BECAUSE MY BROTHERS ARE MISSING!" Percy bellowed, his face suddenly as pink as Ginny's had been only ten minutes before. With visible effort, he reined in his temper and bit out through gritted teeth, "You weren't here, and something needed to be done."

Fleet scowled, but said, "I'm coming with you."

A new voice spoke up, and a slim Japanese girl pushed her way to Fleet. "We should stay, Trevor," the girl said. The glint of light off the badge on her chest told Harry that this was the last of the Gryffindor Prefects. "Chloe has Mitch with her, and there should be at least two prefects here, just in case."

Fleet's scowl deepened. "Weasley - "

"Don't try me, Fleet," Percy growled out. "They're my brothers."

Fleet opened his mouth to reply, but Ginny got there first. "Stop wasting time," she snapped to the seventh year. Fleet looked so taken aback at being spoken to in that manner by a first year that before he could try to stop him, Percy spun on his heel and strode out the portrait hole. Harry scurried after him, and could hear others following. When she chanced a glance back, she saw that a very pale Wood, Hermione, Neville, and a mocha-skinned girl with riotous curls were jogging to catch up.

"Which way to the kitchens?" Percy asked when they hit the stairs leading down to the fourth floor.

Harry nearly missed a step. "Don't you know?" He was a prefect - it seemed impossible that he didn't know where the kitchens were.

"Of course I know," Percy snapped, and then took a deep, agitated breath. "I meant," he continued in a voice so tight that Harry was surprised he could speak at all, "which way will Fred have taken back from the kitchens?"

Harry frowned. "Most of the shortcuts are warded. There's just the one that puts out on the second floor near the steep stairs to the dungeons."

Percy nodded and took the first right he could. Everyone knew where the stairs put out - it saved the Slytherins a lot of time traveling to and from most of their classes in the upper floors, not to mention the library. Harry imagined that it hadn't been getting as much use now; the professors almost always stuck to the large, open corridors.

No one spoke after that, except for Percy snapping at a nosy portrait, "I'm a Prefect," when the portrait objected to their being out without a professor. That was on the third floor; by the time they arrived to the second floor, Harry's breathing seemed far too loud for the fast-paced walk Percy set, and her heart was beating against her ribs. _Maybe it's not them_, she thought, but knew she was deluding herself. The Ravenclaws followed rules to the letter, and no one else had any business being out of the common rooms.

Percy saw them first; he rounded a corner and stopped so sharply that Harry only just avoided running into his back. Neville and Hermione weren't so lucky, and Neville nearly tripped Hermione in his haste to not collide with Harry. Oliver pushed past the second years and, stepping out so that he could see down the broad corridor, let out a low moan - anguish, guilt, despair, Harry couldn't tell. She was steeling herself, and after a few seconds of terrible foreboding, wormed her way between Percy and Oliver.

The hallway was a mess. Pastries and cakes and rolls were strewn about the hall, popcorn scattered in a smaller radius around the two, far too still, red-haired boys. Ron was crouched, a look of horror on his face, his hands frozen in position, fingers tangled in the shoelace he'd clearly been tying. He was looking towards Fred, who'd spilled two highly-polished serving trays in his fall. One of the lids was still oscillating gently from side to side on an uneven stone.

Harry didn't realize her legs had given out until a mocha hand gripped her upper arm and pulled her to her feet. She glanced back. Hermione had both hands clapped over her mouth, and Neville was swaying on the spot, his eyes glued to the still-rolling lid.

"We need to get out of here," the unknown girl said. Even in her shock, Harry could hear the fear and sorrow in her voice. "The attacker could come back."

Percy staggered forward drunkenly for a few steps until he seemed to pull himself upright along his spine; he strode stiffly to his brothers and knelt, carefully placing the back of his hand on first Fred, and then Ron. "Th - they're like stone," he said. Harry had never heard Percy's voice so gruff; normally he bordered on nasal.

She managed to find her own voice. "That's a good thing, then," she choked out. At Hermione's aghast, "Harry!", she explained, "Means they're not - you know. Dead."

Silence fell over them, with only the sound of metal rolling on stone, but even that stopped after a few moments as the lid finally stilled.

"Oh, my!" Professor McGonagall broke the silence with her horrified gasp. "Are they - both - "

The five Gryffindors that Percy had dispatched to their Head, made sounds of horror as well.

"Petrified," Percy answered Professor McGonagall's unfinished question.

"Thank Merlin for small mercies," Professor McGonagall murmured, gently moving past Harry to join Percy near Fred and Ron's bodies. Harry continued to stare at Fred's awkward body position and Ron's horrified expression, wondering who'd been Petrified first. _Probably Fred_, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered critically. It sounded like Alex when he tried to guess who'd killed who in one of his murder mystery novels; Harry resolved on the spot never to read one ever again. _And then Ron, but only after he'd seen Fred._ She stomach clenched violently; she turned and dry-heaved, staggering towards the wall. Her shoulder hit the wall hard, and Harry turned to brace herself on the cold stone. _Is it colder than Fred's skin?_ She dry-heaved again.

"Harry?!" Hermione shrilled, and not a second later Harry felt warm hands on her arm and shoulder as Hermione rubbed her back.

Professor McGonagall spoke again. "All of you, back to the Tower," she commanded. "I don't doubt I'll be seeing you all within a few hours." Harry dragged her gaze away from her shaking arms to Professor McGonagall's pale face. "After this, there's no saying what the Governors will decide." She shook her head despairingly, showing more emotion than Harry thought she'd ever seen on the stern witch's face, even including those brief but genuine almost-smiles she sometimes received in her advanced tutoring. "Off you go," McGonagall repeated, her tone once again professionally stern, although Harry thought her eyes were pitying when they landed on Percy, who'd already begun to obey her orders, chivvying Neville, Oliver, and Zakir along in front of him. Harry allowed Hermione to cling to her arm as she followed the rest of the somber Gryffindors. When she glanced back just before rounding the corner, Professor McGonagall had just shot a silvery light from the end of her wand; after the light disappeared through the ceiling, Professor McGonagall ran a had down her face, suddenly looking more tired than Harry had ever seen her. Then the stone cut off her view of the Transfiguration professor and two bodies; Harry kept her eyes on her feet the rest of the way to the Tower.

No one slept well that night. Ginny and Percy sat huddled together on the couch nearest the fire, and no one disturbed them, not even to offer their sympathies. Harry would've joined them, but didn't think she'd be able to sit there in silence without bursting into fearful tears. Almost every single Petrified student was a friend of hers, with the exception of Boot, Finch-Fletchly, and Li, but even they were her classmates.

After a miserable few hours in the common room, interrupted only by a dinner that very few people actually ate, Harry followed Neville, Seamus, and Dean up to their dormitory. All four of them studiously avoided looking at Ron's empty bed, still unmade and scattered with a few random articles of clothing. Harry found herself glancing hopefully towards the door, hoping that he'd come through it, hair wet from the shower or eyebrows singed from a game of Exploding Snap. She'd even consider playing chess with him, if he was only there.

Even once the four remaining second-years had clambered into their beds, sheets rustling unnaturally loudly in the too-quiet room, sleep was a long time in coming. Harry knew she was the only person still awake when Neville's soft snores began. Seamus tossed and turned restlessly, muttering quietly under his breath, while Dean stopped all movement. Ron had discovered, back in their first year, that Dean slept like a log: deeply and utterly without movement except for the rise and fall of his chest. Dean had woken up with half of his school books stack on and around his body, as well as enough quills stuck into his hair to make him look like an odd sort of avian porcupine.

Harry was still awake when the sky outside began to lighten; she'd fallen asleep several times, but had jerked awake each time to escape nightmares. Her small amount of Occlumency wasn't enough to keep her from dreaming when her emotions were so unbalanced and potent. At six, she gave up on falling back to sleep - no need to face the beginning of another nightmare - and lifted _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy_ from her nightstand. It would take all of her concentration to understand the theory behind the relationship between vanishing and conjuring; with luck, she wouldn't be able to think about Ron's empty bed and Percy's stricken expression at seeing his brothers Petrified.

* * *

_**Feb. 20, 1993**_  
_**Harry -**_  
_**You're not insane, I would know. We're twins, so if you're insane I'm probably mad  
too. And what do you mean, you heard it happen? Was anyone else around - did  
they hear too?**_  
_**Are you sure you don't want to come here for the remainder of the year? I know  
Rémi and Simon would love to meet you; Jonah's already told them about you. None  
of us would mind having you around. Think about it, alright. Write again soon - if I  
don't hear from you in ten days I'll get my Headmaster to make me a Portkey and  
fetch you myself.**_  
_**\- Alex**_

* * *

_Feb. 28, 1993_  
_Dear Alex,_  
_Just because we're twins doesn't mean that we'd both be mad if one of us was. Parseltongue,  
remember? I've got it but you don't, though I wish you did. I wouldn't feel like so much of  
a freak._  
_Quidditch is next weekend; I don't think I've ever been so glad for a game before. Hermione's  
been really moody lately; I think she might've been friends with the girl who was just Petrified.  
They sometimes help each other with research for History of Magic; they're both from Muggle  
families so they don't have the same background in history as me and Neville._  
_Don't come get me. Dad would go spare, thinking that I'd gone to Hogwarts to fetch you while  
students are being Petrified._  
_Love,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_**Feb. 28, 1993**_  
_**Dear Harry,**_  
_**I just found out from a friend that there was another attack. Are you alright? Please, write  
me as soon as you can.**_  
_**Love,**_  
_**Remus**_

* * *

_Feb. 29, 11993_  
_Dear Remus,_  
_I'm still alive, don't worry. It wasn't Gryffindors this time - two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff, all my  
year. Who do you get your information from, anyways? I thought Professor Dumbledore was trying  
to keep it quiet. None of the older students have seen anything in the Prophet._  
_Love,_  
_Harry_


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Warnings for some foul language and mentions of reproductive organs of the female variety. Also, apologies in advance for the abundance of letters in this chapter. It is plot.

* * *

A claxon woke Harry's three roommates at seven. She herself flinched so hard that her book, _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy_, slipped from her hands to land on her bedcovers.

"What's that for?" Seamus asked nervously, showing no signs of being tired, and Harry wondered if she hadn't been the only one unable to sleep. She shrugged in answer to his question.

"All Gryffindors, please report to the Common Room. Report to the Common Room." It was Professor McGonagall's voice, amplified to at least ten times its normal volume.

Harry obeyed silently, pulling her dressing gown on over her pajamas before following Seamus and Dean down the stairs, Neville just behind her after a quick struggle to get his feet into the right slippers.

The common room was crowded, mostly with boys, but Hermione and a few of the first years, including Ginny, were there as well. Professor McGonagall had dark circles under her eyes; Harry suspected that the older witch hadn't gotten a wink of sleep last night.

It took less than five minutes for the last Gryffindor to stumble off the stairs and find a seat on a carpet. Professor McGonagall began to speak. "After the double attack last night, the Governors have decided to close the school early. Before you object," she hurried on, over the protestations of a few fifth and seventh years and the general gasps of shock of everyone else, "by 'early' it has been decreed that all exams will take place at the beginning of May instead of June. Accordingly, lessons will be increased and students will be required to both teach themselves and help younger students in need. Lessons will be held in the Great Hall to reduce likelihood of attacks. Each House will be given the opportunity to spend half an hour on the grounds, supervised by no less than two members of the staff and four House prefects. If not under the direct supervision of a professor or other staff member, the only appropriate place for students to be is in their House. Two prefects will remain in the House common room during the half hour of recreation. Every hour, on the hour, the prefects will take attendance, and forward the scroll to myself, as your Head of House, via house-elf. Letters may also be given to house-elves, who will mail them for you. All clubs and extra-curricular activities have been cancelled for the remainder of the year." Professor McGonagall paused, her eyes traveling around the room, lingering on Oliver, as if expecting him to object. He didn't; his face was etched with lines of guilt, and Harry knew that he was blaming himself for Fred and Ron being Petrified.

"The Governors and Professor Dumbledore," Professor McGonagall began again, her voice strikingly loud in the utterly silent room, "also agreed to notify every family of what has happened these past months. Most parents, of course, already knew, but in light of the most recent attack, a large number have decided to withdraw their children from Hogwarts, immediately." A gasp traveled around the room. "The number of students leaving is so large that the Hogwarts Express will be running today, leaving the Hogsmead Station in an hour and a half. If I call your name, please excuse yourself and pack your belongings. Before leaving the common room, you may sign your name on a scroll to receive assignments via owl if you so wish; it is recommended. Are there any questions?"

Hermione's hand was the first in the air. "Will Hogwarts be opening in September?"

"Unless the culprit is caught," Professor McGonagall replied heavily, "no, it will not. If that is the case, pamphlets will be sent to each student's family for alternative schools."

There weren't any more questions, and Professor McGonagall began reading out the list, going up by year. All but one first year were named; the lone boy was clearly a muggle-born, judging by his odd pajamas, and Harry thought that she'd never seen such a scrawny eleven-year old before. She held her breath as Professor McGonagall began calling out second years.

"Brown, Finnigan, Granger, Longbottom, Roper, - " Professor McGonagall continued on to third years, but Harry was staring at Hermione and Neville in dismay. She'd expected Neville to get called - his Gran seemed very protective of him, and had asked multiple times over the holiday about the happenings at Hogwarts - but somehow she'd thought that Hermione's parents wouldn't call her back. Of the nine second years, it was only her and Dean Thomas staying behind. Pavarti hadn't come back after the Christmas holidays, but somehow, this was different; students weren't just not returning, they were being _taken_ from school.

By the time Professor McGonagall had worked through all seven years, there were only twenty-one Gryffindors remaining, over half of whom were sixth and seventh years. All of the seventh years were staying because their parents couldn't pull them from school - they were seventeen and legally adults - and Harry knew for a fact that Oliver had already turned seventeen as well, and she suspected the same held true for the other three sixth years remaining. Four of the twelve fifth years hadn't been called - the two Prefects, as well as Zakir, and Ryan - but Alicia Spinnet was the only fourth year, just as Katie Bell was the only third year. Harry suspected they had already talked about this possibility with their parents.

Hermione was one of the first to return to the common room, two trunks levitating along behind her. The second had a somewhat tatty 'G. Weasley' on the front, and a pale Ginny came down after the trunks, her friend Johanna with her. Johanna was also floating her trunk after her, forehead wrinkled in concentration. Harry waited for Hermione to direct the two trunks to the ground before approaching her friend.

"You'll write?" Hermione asked immediately. "And send class notes?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, of course. Anything."

The awkward silence between them was mostly covered by the steadily increasing noises of students descending with their trunks and various animals, and, in Neville's case, a basket full of potted plants and Trevor's terrarium. Neville wound his way through the increasingly crowded common room to join Harry and Hermione.

"You'll be all right?"

Harry shrugged. Her nightmares would likely be terrible for the next few weeks, and her deception was essentially over. She'd be at home with her father for a month before Alex returned; there was no way he wouldn't notice that she was there when it was supposed to be Alex. Her transfiguration skills weren't nearly good enough to disguise herself as her brother; she'd only just started to Vanish things reliably, and she was utterly inept at Conjuring anything except snakes and marbles, the latter of which usually came out ovular instead of spherical.

"Why didn't your father - ?" Neville started to ask, but cut himself off when Professor McGonagall approached them, a somber expression on her face - even more somber than it'd been when explaining that Hogwarts likely wouldn't reopen in September.

Harry's heart sank. _What did they tell Dad?_ she thought frantically, dread creeping throughout her body and constricting her throat. _Do they know? Am I going to be expelled?!_

"A word, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, placing a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry's alarm grew at the tone of voice her favorite Professor was using. She allowed herself to be steered towards the portrait hole, just to the side of the line of students waiting to sign their names on the list to receive homework assignments by owl. Hermione and Neville joined the end of the line, but she could see Hermione's worried eyes watching her.

"I attempted to contact your father myself," Professor McGonagall said. "I was unable to reach him and instead found myself receiving this from his superiors at the Ministry. They would have sent it within the week, but found it more convenient to have me deliver it." Harry wordlessly accepted the thin envelope that Professor McGonagall was holding out. The black sealing wax had no sigil - it was just a flat circle - but she recognized it anyways, and drew her wand and tapped the black wax.

"Syngaína James Potter," she whispered. How many times had she seen her father do the same at the table, when missives came from the Department of Mysteries to call him away, sometimes for days on end? She'd had the incantation memorized by age seven, and had understood its meaning by eight. The expected symbol appeared: Perdhro, the Ancient Futhark rune for mystery.

Harry was aware of Professor McGonagall moving to block her from sight of most of the common room as she opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of parchment.

_To the next-of-kin of James C. Potter:_

_It is my deepest regret to inform you of Unspeakable Potter's unfortunate mishap on the 2 of March, 1993.  
Unspeakable Potter's is currently located in the Janus Thickey Ward of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical  
Maladies and Injuries; his condition is stable but the damage was extensive and the Mediwizard's prognosis  
is not favorable for a complete recovery. Unspeakable Potter has not woken from his coma in the past four  
days. The Healers predict that if he has not woken by the tenth, his likelihood of waking will reduce at by a  
factor of .29 for each subsequent day asleep. If you have any questions about the treatments for Unspeakable  
Potter, please contact St. Mungo's Hospital for more information. _

_Worker's compensation will be deposited directly into Unspeakable Potter's Gringott's account until he recovers  
or _usque ad mortem_, whichever it may be. _

_Unspeakable Potter signed an agreement not to level charges in case of accidents, as well as an agreement to  
allow the Unspeakable Department access to his corpse for further study after any burial ceremony that may take  
place. We will hold you to fulfill his promises. _

_Similar letters are being sent to Mssr's Alesander J. Potter and Remus J. Lupin. The one for Mr. Sirius O. Black,  
designated guardian of Mssr. Alexander J. Potter and Mlle. Harriet R. Potter, has been returned by owl, unopened.  
If you are in contact with this man, please convey the message. _

_Regards,  
Darius Monkstanley, Unspeakable_

Harry read the letter twice more before fully realizing what it said. Her father was in a coma. He was not expected to wake, and his chances of waking were dwindling with each hour that passed. She folded the letter with shaking hands and slid it back into the envelope, which she tucked carefully into her dressing gown pocket even though she felt more like scrunching the whole thing into a tiny ball and throwing it onto the fire.

Professor McGonagall had gone to start organizing the students into lines to lead through the castle to where they would load into the carriages. Harry managed a tight smile to Neville and Hermione, who were standing in a group with the rest of the second years ready to leave, and staggered up the stairs to her dorm. Thankfully, Dean wasn't there, so she didn't have to pretend to alright when she flopped down face-first onto her bed, burying her nose in her pillow, ignoring how _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy _dug into her ribs. She managed to take several deep breaths before her composure broke, and a choked sob escaped. Eventually, a night of sparse sleep and emotional exhaustion overwhelmed her, and Harry fell asleep on a tear-dampened pillow.

* * *

At dinner that night, Harry was alarmed at how few students were there. Twenty-one Gryffindors, forty-seven Ravenclaws, thirty-two Hufflepuffs, and, as far as she could tell, the entirety of Slytherin house. As Harry scrutinized the Slytherin table, she decided that there were a few of the Slytherins missing, but not too many. Throughout the meal, the only table to make much noise was that of the Slytherins, and even they were more subdued than usual. At the staff table, every single professor wore troubled expressions, although Harry suspected that Lockhart only looked so upset because he'd previously been bragging - after a week without attacks following the triple attack on Su Li, Finch-Fletchly, and Boot - that he'd scared the monster off. Dumbledore's chair was empty, and Harry wondered where he was as she picked morosely at her roast chicken. Hogwarts wouldn't be the same without her friends.

* * *

With the new safety measures, Harry felt like a prisoner. Every morning at half past seven they were escorted by Professors Vector and Babbling to the Great Hall, where Interim-Headmistress McGonagall collected the rolls of attendance for each of the houses. Professor Dumbledore had been suspended indefinitely, or at least until whatever was attacking students was captured. The only other missing staff member was Hagrid, who was rumored to have been arrested on suspicion of orchestrating the attacks. Not even the Slytherins believed that Hagrid had actually been the culprit, although none of them actually came out and said so.

Every day after breakfast, the students would split up by year group at appropriately sized tables in the Great Hall. The professors would rotate between tables, assigning work and lecturing as needed. Harry found herself thinking, several times, that Hermione would have hated this method of education. With at least seven lessons being conducted at once - some of the older groups had their electives too - the Great Hall was always noisy, to the extent that Harry found it difficult to concentrate if she didn't put up a silencing charm around her chair. The best side effect of the silencing charm was that it meant that she didn't have to listen to Malfoy's smug airs about how everyone of 'lesser blood' had fled back to their rightful places. Harry clenched her jaw so tightly shut that she was surprised she hadn't cracked a tooth during the week it took for her to get the silencing charm to work properly.

Perhaps the only thing more sickening than Malfoy's spouting was Lockhart's ridiculous posing. Without Hermione and Neville by her side, Lockhart didn't seem as humorous as he once had; instead, his defense lectures in the great hall were downright pathetic. And oddly enough, nearly everyone else she talked to - really only Dean, but he was on good terms with several Hufflepuffs, who would speak with the Ravenclaws, who sometimes associated with the Slytherins - shared her opinion of the fop, including Malfoy, who, during defense 'lessons', would turn his tongue from disparaging those of impure blood to scorning Lockhart.

"_I_ would never curl my hair," he drawled loudly on the second Monday of the new schedule. "A Malfoy would never have to resort to such a _muggle_ method." The next day, as Lockhart was preaching his virtues to the small group of first years - only twelve remained, eight of which were Slytherins - Snape turned a blind eye to Malfoy as he cast a _finite_ charm at Lockhart, whose hair promptly deflated from its stylish curls.

"Draco!" Parkinson exclaimed in a hushed whisper. "Put it back!"

Harry slowed her writing - since each age group was only allowed to brew once a week, their other two lessons were simply note-taking and theory - to hear better. Professor Flitwick's fourth years were making rather distracting sounds, as were some of Professor McGonagall's sixth years, who, Harry had noticed enviously, were conjuring birds from thin air. She'd still only managed to conjure live snakes, although her inanimate conjuring had progressed to the point where she could reliably conjure objects as big as a teapot. The seventh year female prefect, June Tanaka, was mostly responsible for the progress Harry had made, spending hours with her on the weekends. June said that it was a good way to review for her rapidly approaching N.E.W.T.'s.

"Why should I?" Malfoy asked, voice irritated. Harry's quill continued to trace words on her parchment, although they didn't have anything to do with the consequences of different stirring patterns. "He's an idiot. My house elf knows more about the Dark Arts than him."

_I don't doubt that_, Harry thought. Everyone knew that the House of Malfoy was Traditionalist: they practiced all magic, regardless of whether it aligned Dark or Light.

"No he's not!" Parkinson forgot to lower her voice, and the three remaining Ravenclaws, Mandy Brocklehurst, Sally-Anne Perks, and Kevin Entwhistle, glared at her. Everyone was under more stress than usual, with the exams only a little more than a month away, but the Ravenclaws were taking it much harder, especially with the restricted access to library books.

"Stop shrieking!" Perks hissed at Parkinson. "Some of us actually care about how well we do."

"Like that will help you get into Beauxbatons," Parkinson sneered, forgetting her irritation with Malfoy. "They actually have class, you upstart mudblood bitch!"

Harry's quill skidded across her parchment as she flinched at the expletives, leaving a dark smear of ink behind.

"Miss Parkinson," Professor Snape cut in before any of the second years - all of whom had forgotten their work in favor of the developing argument between Parkinson and Perks - could say anything. Harry thought that was probably a good thing, since Entwhistle and Hopkins, a Hufflepuff, looked like they'd enjoy nothing better than hexing the Slytherin for the insult. "Apologize for insulting Miss Perks. You know better than to say such things in public." Harry's eyebrows rose.

"You _got _to be joking," Entwhistle broke in, and for a second, Harry thought he was actually defending Parkinson. But then he continued. "You didn't even take points from her! You just - just _chided_ her for voicing her opinion _in public_! You don't care that it's rude and - and - _demeaning_, just that she said it in _public_!"

Now it wasn't just the second years who were silent; the neighboring first years and third years were staring at Entwhistle with either anger or awe. Harry glanced at Snape; unsurprisingly, his face was a blank mask. "Mr. Entwhistle," he said silkily, "It is not my duty to regulate, as you so kindly pointed out, the _opinions_ of any of the students in these halls. Is not everyone entitled to think for themselves?"

Entwhistle subsided, although Harry could see anger in the way he nearly tore a hole through his parchment with his quill-tip.

"Back to work," Professor Snape ordered. Harry glanced at her parchment, and immediately winced. She'd been writing the same word - although 'Peverell' was actually a name - repeatedly for the last few lines. As she began to scratch out the useless lines, she heard Brocklehurst whisper to Perks, "Just ignore them, Annie."

* * *

After the drama between Perks, Entwhistle, Parkinson, and Snape, nothing exciting happened for a month. Harry thought that if things were any duller, the ghosts would start to look exciting. Things were so boring, in fact, that Harry had begun to contemplate sneaking into the Slytherin common room under her invisibility cloak, even though she'd promised Hermione and Alex, several times each, not to do anything rash. When three days of trying to sneak out of the common room yielded no results, though, she gave up and instead devoted herself to learning the first steps of human transfiguration.

June Tanaka was the best tutor (not including Professor McGonagall) that Harry had had, even better than Percy. It took more repetitions than she could count, but by the last week of April, Harry could successfully Switch parts of her body (she normally did her eyebrows; she only Switched her feet once - it was gross, seeing her feet on the wrong leg), and once, when Dean was immersed in a game of chess with the first year, she used the spell the twins had found in _Beauty Marks: Altering and Modifying For the Best You_. To her delight, it worked; her intense practice with Switching - in itself a partial-transfiguation, although dangerously close to a Charm classification - had paid off.

Immensely pleased with herself, Harry read through the passage again, looking for a spell to reverse the enhancement she'd done, only to find that there wasn't one. She swore. After ten minutes of trying the same spell, but focusing on deflating her enlarged breasts, she managed to get them to a far less noticeable size. She hid for the rest of the evening on her four-poster, hanging drawn tight, and timed how long it took for the transfiguration to wear off. Four hours later, she released a breath of relief.

* * *

_March 7, 1993_

_Alex. I don't know what to do. There was another attack last night. Both Ron and Fred have been Petrified.  
Ron's face - I don't think I've ever seen anyone so frightened. And Dad. What if he doesn't wake up? I didn't  
tell him that I love him the last time we saw him. What if I never get to? Where will we go? My school's  
closing a month early, and I don't have anywhere to go. I haven't talked to anyone about it, either. I can't,  
since all of my friends are either pulled from school or Petrified. I wish I could go to you, but without Dad's  
permission, there's no way McGonagall will let me. I don't even know who's taking over as our temporary  
guardian. I really, really miss you, Alex. Write back as soon as you can. I love you._

_-Harry_

* * *

_March 8, 1993  
Dear Remus,_

_You've probably heard, but there was another attack. A lot of students were pulled, and Hogwarts is closing  
early. I know you've received a letter from Dad's work. Do you know who my and Alex's guardian is?_

_Love,  
Harry._

* * *

**March 8, 1993  
Harry -**

**I'm shaken too. I never thought - I mean, it's Dad. He'll recover. He has to. He's got us. I don't know  
who'll take us. I want Remus to, but he's a werewolf. It won't be allowed. I think the best we can hope  
for is some kind-hearted Ministry employee. You'll have to be really careful. If they investigate, they'll  
figure us out. But Dad always says that the upper Ministry's useless, so they likely won't. And Dad'll be  
out before anything serious happens, anyways. I wish you'd come here before all of this happened.  
And I love you too.**

**\- Alex**

**P.S. Did you read that bit about Sirius Black in the letter from the Department? It means that he's alive!**

* * *

_March 9, 1993  
To the Scion Harry Potter,_

_On behalf of the Most Ancient and Loyal House of Longbottom, I extend our deepest  
sympathies for your family's plight. If you should ever need assistance, do not hesitate to Floo to  
our reception chambers at Longbottom Manor._

_Highest Regards,  
Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom_

* * *

**March 9, 1993  
Dear Harry,**

**Gran told me about your father. If you need someone to listen, I'm always here. Don't bother with  
the reception chamber. I've keyed you in to the Manor wards, but don't tell Gran. The elves are in  
on it. Good luck with everything.**

**Friends,  
Neville**

* * *

_March 10, 1993  
To the Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom, Representative of the Most Ancient and Loyal House of Longbottom,_

_As the Scion of the Most Ancient and Honorable House of Potter, I am grateful for your well-wishes, and acknowledge  
a deeper bond of friendship between our two families, and I am sure that the Heir Apparent of my House will agree  
after such sensitive actions as yours. Your offer of aid is duly noted, and as is fitting, the Most Ancient and Honorable  
House of Potter will not forget your offer. Upon the Heir's majority, a similar offer shall be made._

_Highest Regards,  
Scion Harry R. Potter_

* * *

_March 10, 1993_

_Thanks, Neville, for everything.  
Sorry for the shoddy letter to your Gran. It's hard enough to keep my head on classwork, let alone  
format a proper letter._

_Friends,  
Harry_

* * *

_March 14, 1993  
Dear Alex,_

_Have you heard from Remus? Do you think he's alright?  
I didn't see that bit about Sirius. You really think he's alive? The letter said he hadn't opened the  
letter. Maybe he's like Dad._

_Love,  
Harry_

* * *

_**March 16, 1993  
Dearest Harry,**_

_**I apologize for the long wait. I was in Nepal when I got the letter from James' work, but I've  
already begun petitioning the Ministry for guardianship. I'm being blocked at every office. The  
best I can do is approach some old associates of mine to see if they'll take you; I don't want  
to see you shipped off to the Malfoy's. They're the closest 'upstanding' family James is related  
to. I'm also following up on an error in the Department of Mystery's notification, but that  
shouldn't take long to clear up.  
I've visited James. He looks perfectly healthy, but the Medi-Wizards say that there's been no  
sign of his waking. I'm hopeful, though. James is nothing if not stubborn, and he loves the  
both of you fiercely.  
I'll contact you again in a few days.**_

_**Love,  
Remus**_

* * *

**March 17, 1993  
Dear Harry,**

**Gran's taking me to New Zealand, tomorrow. I won't be able to owl you much, if at all. I don't  
think they'll be able to make the journey very easily, so keep that in mind if you do send me a  
letter. She says that we'll be returning mid-July, though, so that's nice.  
Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid are coming with us. They're here already, and they've also extended  
their sympathies. I'm surprised Aunt Enid remembers you properly. She's called me Frank four  
times so far this evening.  
I'll probably be gone by the time you get this. I'll write when we get back.  
**

**Friends,  
Neville**

* * *

**March 17, 1993  
Harry -**

**I _know_ that Sirius is alive. The Department would've had to go through Gringotts to get to Dad's  
Living Will, and Gringotts always knows when someone's dead or alive. It's how they keep track of  
who's allowed into vaults and who's not. I asked on of my professors about it - he used to work for  
Gringotts - and he said that the goblin's blood magic is never wrong.  
I just heard from Remus yesterday evening. He'll take care of everything, I'm sure.**

**\- Alex**

* * *

_March 24, 1993  
Dear Harry,_

_I'm sorry I haven't written. Mum and Dad are being very protective right now, and hardly even want me to  
accept the school work from the owls! I had to swear not to use the owls for anything else, not even writing  
to you or Neville! I finally got Mum to take me to Diagon Alley to send this off, though.  
How is it at Hogwarts. I hope things haven't got too bad. I saw almost everyone in our year except you and  
Dean on the train. Poor Ron. I can't believe that he's been Petrified. I might not like him very much, but he  
hardly deserved _that_.  
I really am missing access to the library there. Read something good for me, will you? I doubt there's room  
for you to be unsafe, but stay safe anyways._

_Love,  
Hermione_

_P.S. I'm sorry about your father. Neville told me, on the Platform. His Gran found out while visiting St. Mungo's.  
P.P..S. Send the return owl at night, late, if you can. Our neighbors have commented on the owls that come  
every Monday, and Mum doesn't want them getting suspicious._

* * *

_March 25, 1993  
Dear Hermione,_

_Thanks for the letter. It's good to hear from you. I wish you were here, but it's probably better that you're  
not. Most of the second years are Slytherins, and even though the teasing has pretty much stopped, what  
with so may purebloods being attacked, they still think they own the school.  
Classes are odd. All of them take place in the Great Hall. Students are separated by year instead of House,  
and we take all of our lessons with all of the other Houses, except for some of the older students with their  
elective courses. Normally Professor McGonagall would've been by to give us a lecture on what courses there  
are to choose from next year, but since it's almost certain that Hogwarts is closing after May, she hasn't. I  
asked some of the older students about it though, and Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures sounds  
pretty fun. Muggle Studies is also intriguing, as is Arithmancy. Divination doesn't seem very good though,  
from what the upper years say. Too bad we're only allowed to choose three._

_Best,  
Harry_

_P.S. I've already heard from Neville. He's in New Zealand with his Gran, Aunt Enid, and Uncle Algie._

* * *

_**March 28, 1993  
Little lordling,**_

_**I heard of your troubles, both scholastically and otherwise, from a friend of mine who is well  
acquainted with your furry friend who I met this summer. Find a copy of Fantastic Beasts and  
Where to Find Them and read page fourteen. I believe that you'll find it enlightening. Do try  
not to die. I still owe you for accepting that ring.  
As for your other troubles, my mother wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience. I  
don't know why, so don't pester me. I've got enough on my plate as it is. Your actions over  
Yule have stirred things up in my kingdom quite nicely.**_

_**Regards,  
The King**_

_**P.S. If you decide to Floo, it's best that you go to my mother's shop. The Spitting Chimera is  
being rebuilt, under the name 'The Dancing Dragon', and won't be connected to the Floo until  
mid-June.**_

* * *

_April 5, 1993  
Dear Alex,_

_Hogwarts is bloody unbelievable. There's not only another parselmouth here, but they've been controlling  
a basilisk. If someone doesn't die by the time finals come around, it'll be a miracle.  
Don't tell Remus._

_Love,  
Harry_

* * *

_April 5, 1993  
King -_

_How'd you find out?  
Stop calling me that.  
I'll visit her when I can. It may be a while._

_\- H. Potter_

* * *

_April 6, 1993  
Dear Harry,_

_I can't believe it! My parents took my letter from Neville! They've had it for weeks and didn't say! I'm so  
angry right now!_

_Sorry. I've calmed down a bit. Mum and Dad agreed to let me write you once every two weeks, so long as  
they can both come with me to Diagon Alley to watch me send it off. I think they're considering buying me  
an owl for an early birthday gift, but only if I can promise not to send letters during the day. One of the  
neighbors told the animal control center that there's rogue owls on the block. Apparently, she's terrified of  
them.  
I still can't believe that my parents stole my mail!  
I'll write in two weeks._

_Love,  
Hermione_

* * *

_April 7, 1993  
Dear Hermione,_

_It's good to hear from you again. Everything here is really dull. Even Malfoy can't make a day interesting.  
I've gotten really far in my Transfiguration studies, even without McGonagall around to help out. She's  
looking really worn out.  
Sorry for the short letter. I've got some really important things to look into. I'll tell you about it next time._

_Best,  
Harry_

* * *

**April 7, 1993  
Harry -**

**Please tell me you're joking. I don't normally have a problem with dangerous animals, but even the  
dragon situation was better than this. In fact, I'd rather you have to babysit a fully-grown nesting  
mother than be in a school with a basilisk. Be careful. If you get yourself in trouble, I'll kill you myself.**

**-Alex**

* * *

_April 9, 1993  
Dear Alex,_

_I'm not an imbecile._

_Love,  
Harry_

* * *

_**April 14, 1993  
Dearest Harry,**_

_**I've been formally prohibited from gaining guardianship over you and Alex, even temporarily. As of  
right now, Professor McGonagall is acting in loco parentis for you, while one Irene Sykes is acting as  
such for Alex. I believe that she is his Year Advisor. In slightly better news, I've successfully blocked  
Lucius Malfoy's petitions for the time being. Andromeda Tonks is amenable to taking both you and  
Alex during the summer; since she is Narcissa Malfoy's older sister, the Ministry can't deny that she  
must be approached first. There is still another option that I am exploring that will put Malfoy's plans  
to a permanent end, although I have had trouble making contact. Keep safe. I'll be in touch.**_

_**Love,  
Remus**_

* * *

_April 15, 1993  
Dear Remus,_

_What about Sirius Black? I know he's alive, and he's my godfather. And you can't even get Alex? He's your godson!_

_Love,  
Harry_

* * *

_**April 19, 1993  
Dearest Harry,**_

_**Although I'd love to be able to have even one of you, the Ministry is adamant in their stance against  
werewolves. Added to the fact that I was never formally sworn in, there's no documentation to support  
my claims. I'm afraid that I've no legal claim to either of you.  
As for Sirius, I haven't been able for find any trace of him. Wherever he is, he's well hidden. I don't  
know why he's hidden for so long, or if he can do anything about it. He went missing years before the  
war ended - just a week after you were born, actually. Six years is a long time to survive in Voldemort's  
hands, if that is indeed where he was. I don't want to be pessimistic, but the fact that he didn't open the  
letter does not bode well for his state. The goblins have been less than helpful, and the owl I tried to send  
flew in circles for hours before giving up. I've asked some of my brethren to keep an ear to the ground.  
If I get any news, good or bad, I'll write.**_

_**Love,**_  
_**Remus**_

* * *

**More A/N:** usque ad mortem is Latin for 'until death'.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry spent the first few days after discovering that a basilisk was in the castle in a muddled fog. She couldn't decide whether she should hide in her four-poster and never emerge, or laugh madly until Madam Pomfrey took pity on her and locked her into the private ward, or both. She ended up doing neither, and no one noticed anything any different.

When Harry tried to talk with Professor McGonagall, the woman brushed her off distractedly. Harry couldn't even find it in her to be angry. She didn't have any room for anger. She was too depressed to be angry. Her friends were all either Petrified or safe at home. Her father was in a coma. Her assumed-dead godfather either didn't care about her, or was just as unable to be her guardian as her father, and she couldn't decide which option was worse.

The only bright spot in the last month was when Malfoy found out that he was one of her closest relatives. Parkinson's expression had been priceless, too, but Malfoy had looked like he needed to vomit. Even Daphne Greengrass, a haughty-looking blonde second-year, had laughed, although Harry suspected she was laughing at Malfoy's misfortune rather than his sickened expression.

* * *

Ten days before the first of May, Harry fell asleep in the common room. She'd taken to tiring herself to the point of exhaustion each day, even going so far as to exercise with Oliver. He, like Harry, had never gone so long at Hogwarts without flying, and had found it difficult to fall asleep, although his insomnia was caused by restlessness, not by nightmares.

Harry's nightmares had returned with a vengeance after the King pointed her to _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. Basilisks slithered through her dreamscapes, killing her friends, her father, Alex - anyone who mattered to her even the smallest bit - and then swallowing them down, one after the other, as Ash restrained her, his face half-charred and the stench of garlic heavy around his body.

But even the added exercise didn't work completely. She'd fall asleep just fine, but would wake up every night tangled in her bedcovers, panting and panicked.

This time, though, when Harry woke up in the early hours of the morning, it wasn't because of a nightmare. She glanced around the common room, unsure as to why she'd woken. Everything was still, the fire burnt out to a few lumps of grey coal. As her gaze passed over the girl's staircase, she saw something move.

Slowly, Harry stood and approached the stairs. Cautiously, making sure no one was around to see, she climbed up the girl's staircase, glad, for the first time, that there were so few Gryffindors left. It meant less chance of being found where she shouldn't be able to stand.

"Hello?" she called softly. The wisp of silvery shadow that she'd been following stopped, just outside of the door labeled 'second years'. It was a ghost of a young girl, who looked vaguely familiar, although Harry couldn't quite figure out why. As far as she knew, the only ghost who wore student's robes was Moaning Myrtle, and this clearly wasn't her.

"Have you seen Mandy? She's not in her room. I've looked everywhere."

Harry frowned. "Mandy Brocklehurst?" It was weird, having a conversation with a ghost. She didn't _not_ like them, but she wasn't very comfortable around them either. Most of them had died violently, and would say very eerie things at odd times. "The Ravenclaw?"

"She's my friend," the ghost said, twisting her ectoplasmic robes. "She's not in her room."

"You're not in Ravenclaw Tower," Harry said, still trying to figure out how she knew this ghost. "You're in Gryffindor Tower right now."

"Oh." The ghost gave her a tremulous smile. "Thanks, Harry. I never believed that you were the Heir of Slytherin, anyways." The ghost gave Harry one more smile before drifting off through the wall, heading vaguely west, in the direction of the lake. Harry gaped after her, feeling like her stomach had turned to lead. That had been the ghost of Sally-Anne Perks!

A door further up the girl's staircase closed, and Harry turned and stumbled down the stairs, head spinning. If that had been Perks' ghost…it meant that she was dead. Her leg collided with the couch, and Harry sank onto it, staring blankly at the cold hearth. She didn't know how long she sat for, but eventually, she stood and climbed up to the fifth year's dorm. Harry hesitated for a long moment before knocking on the door.

She heard some groaning from within, and then, after a long minute, Mitch Abernathy, fifth year prefect, opened the door, hair tousled, his wand-tip lit up and illuminating a deep pillow line pressed into his cheek.

"Wha'ssa matter," he asked sloppily, barely repressing a yawn. For a moment, Harry felt bad; the first of his O.W.L.'s were in nine days, and she'd woken him up. "Well?" he pressed when Harry's silence lasted too long. "You didn't wake me up for no reason, did you?"

"G'way, Wood, m'up!" Zakir's voice drifted out, and Abernathy stepped past Harry, shutting the door behind him.

"C'mon Potter, speak up, or I'm getting back into bed."

"I saw a ghost," Harry blurted out.

Abernathy's expression turned incredulous. "We're at Hogwarts. I'd be impressed if you'd managed to go so long without seeing one. Now, if that's all, I'm going - "

"No!" Harry shifted uncertainly. Was she _sure_ of who it'd been? "It - it's a new one. A student. I - I just saw her yesterday, but just now - in the common room - her ghost just, it just, _drifted_ by. And then she asked why Mandy wasn't there, and then thanked me when I told her she wasn't in Ravenclaw tower."

Abernathy's eyebrows had risen further up his forehead with every word she spoke, until they were in danger of disappearing behind his messy fringe. "Look Potter, I'm not judging you or anything, but are you sure it wasn't a nightmare? I don't blame you if it was, it's not been an easy year for anyone, but it - "

"It _wasn't_ a nightmare!" Harry exclaimed, agitated. He had to believe her! "I've had plenty of those! This was different! Real!"

"Who was it, then?" Abernathy asked, but Harry could tell he was just humoring her.

"Perks! Sally-Anne Perks! She's my year, in Ravenclaw. The one that Parkinson called a - erm - m-word."

"Was that why that kid sassed Snape?" Abernathy asked, and then shook his head. "Never mind. I'm sure this Perk girl is just fine. Security's tight enough to strangle."

"It was her," Harry insisted. "I was right about Ron and Fred, wasn't I?! This is the same! I _saw_ her!"

"Let it rest, Potter. It was just stress. You'll see her at breakfast. Really," he added, cutting off her protest. "I'm going to bed now, and I suggest you do the same." He turned and slipped back into his room. Harry glared at his door for a long moment before stalking back down the stairs.

She paused in front of the seventh year's dorm, this year the closet dorm to the common room. She'd passed it on the way up because she didn't particularly like Trevor Fleet. He hadn't believed Percy, or her, back in March, and she doubted he would now. Mind made up, she purposefully crossed the common room to where an empty portrait frame had been situated after the attack in February. She pulled out her wand and tapped the little bronze nameplate that read 'Eupraxia Mole, Headmistress 1871 - 1884', saying, "Gryffindor common room."

It took a few seconds, but then a stately looking witch, her blonde hair neatly piled on top of her head and held in place with a pair of ornate combs, stepped into the frame, not looking even remotely bothered at being called so early in the morning. "Do you need something, dear?"

"A message, please, to Professor McGonagall, from Harry Potter." She paused while the painted woman drew a scroll from her voluminous sleeve and a quill from somewhere outside of the frame. When ex-Headmistress Mole nodded to indicate her readiness, Harry said, "I saw a ghost who I believe to be the ghost of Sally-Anne Perks. She came into the Gryffindor common room; I directed her to the Ravenclaw common room." She paused again before adding, "She seemed really confused to be in the Gryffindor common room. I think she thought she was on the other side of the castle."

The scratching of Mole's quill hadn't once paused during Harry's statement. "Is that everything?" Harry nodded, and Professor Mole rolled up the parchment. "Wait for five minutes. If I have not returned in that time, you may do as you please." She had exited the frame before Harry could do more than give a shaky nod.

Harry didn't know how much time passed before Mole reappeared, but she suspected that it was much more than five minutes.

"I am glad to see that you are still here," the portrait said upon spying Harry on the chair she'd pulled in front of the frame. "Acting-Headmistress McGonagall says," she pulled out her parchment and unfurled it in a well-practiced manner, "I appreciate the suspicion, Mr. Potter, and will verify the information before acting further. Have a restful remainder of the night." The scroll was rolled back up, and Mole added, "She means that you should go to bed, and that you'll find out more later today." Once again, Mole was out of the frame before Harry could respond.

"Right," she muttered to herself, flopping onto the couch and curling up on her side. She much preferred the common room to the dorm, and had ever since Ron and Fred's attack. She now understood exactly why Fred had avoided his dorm at all costs after George had been Petrified: even standing at the doorway brought up the memory of Ron's face frozen into a mask of terror. "That's likely."

Contrary to her expectations, though, she managed to fall asleep shortly after the sky began to lighten. Abernathy shook her awake what seemed like minutes later, but the presence of the rest of the Gryffindors and Professors Babbling and Vector in the common room told her that it'd been longer than that.

"Get your things, Potter," Abernathy said as soon as she'd managed to clear the sleep from her eyes.

It took Harry less than five minutes to change her clothes and grab her bag, and when she returned to the common room, Professor Vector immediately led the way out of the portrait hole. Harry was at the very back of the line of Gryffindors, with only Professor Babbling behind her. There was very little talking as they traveled down through the castle; there seldom was.

* * *

In the Great Hall, the normal dining tables were missing; instead, the seven tables for school-year were present, breakfast already set out. "Join your year-mates," Professor Vector instructed. As Harry followed Dean to the second-year's table, she searched for any sight of Sally-Anne Perks; all she found was an extremely pale-faced, red-eyed Mandy Brocklehurst.

Her stomach dropped. Somehow, despite her conviction that what she'd seen last night hadn't been a dream, Harry had begun to hope that Abernathy was right, that it'd just been the stress and worry getting to her. She was so distracted by Sally-Anne's absence - expected though it was - that she didn't realize that she'd sat next to Parkinson until the Slytherin scooted away, making a fuss about it.

"I don't see why we've been forced to sit with these heathens," Parkinson complained to Malfoy, who glared at Harry before making a noise of agreement. "I want the House tables back so that I'll have at least some appetite for breakfast."

Thankfully, Parkinson wasn't given the chance to complain any further. Professor McGonagall was on her feet, a loud chime sounding out for silence. "It is my greatest regret to inform you that Hogwarts is closed." There was a bare moment of stunned silence before she continued to speak, voice tightly controlled. Harry couldn't imagine how her favorite professor must be feeling. "Last night, a student was killed. I have decided that, with the Governor's approval, Hogwarts must be shut down immediately. Your - "

"But what about N.E.W.T.'s!" several seventh-years exclaimed. The entire table - the largest of all the year's tables - looked fretful, although Harry noticed that those sporting the Ravenclaw crest and tie also seemed sad. Perks had been a Ravenclaw, and she imaged that, much like herself and the older Gryffindors, the second-year Ravenclaw had approached them for help on schoolwork in the past few months of limited freedom. "You can't cancel them!"

"Rest assured, the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s will still take place, although you will be required to report to the Ministry Testing Center if you wish to take them. For O.W.L. students, your scores will be mandatory if you choose to apply to other scholastic institutions in the likely event that Hogwarts does not open in the autumn. Now," she said frostily, over-riding another protest from the seventh-year's table, "as I was saying, each student's belongings will be gathered up and packed by the house elves. They will be transported to the Hogwarts Express when it arrives, which should be just after half-ten. Until that time, you may quietly entertain yourselves." Although her tone was steely, Harry could see the slump of Professor McGonagall's shoulders as the stern professor settled back into her seat.

Almost immediately, whispers erupted.

"I wonder who it was?" Zacharias Smith asked loudly, craning his neck to search the other tables, as if a sign would mark who was missing.

"I wish it'd been Granger," Malfoy drawled, and Harry clenched her fists around the edge of her seat so hard that she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd just given herself a few splinters.

"Most of the mudbloods left," Nott said from Malfoy's far side. "It's most likely a half-blood of some sort."

Malfoy gave Harry a scathing glance that clearly said that he wished she'd been the one who died. "A blood-traitor, no doubt," he said, and then served himself a spoonful of eggs.

Harry shifted her chair as far from the Slytherins as she could without physically standing up, and nibbled morosely at a piece of toast, not hungry in the least. After ten more minutes of Malfoy and Parkinson naming people who they wished had been there to be attacked, Harry drew her wand and cast a Deafening Charm on her ears. She'd rather hear nothing at all than listen to Malfoy for another second.

Harry had been staring up at the ceiling, wishing that the Express would hurry up, for quite a long time when she realized that she wouldn't be able to get home. With a start, she dropped the Deafening Charm and stood.

"Watch my things, will you?" she asked Dean, who broke off from his game of chess against Ernie Macmillan long enough to give a grunt of assent. "Thanks."

"Where're you going?" Zacharias Smith demanded, his eyes narrowed.

"To talk with Professor McGonagall," Harry replied. "Not that it's any of your business."

"No need to get snippy," she heard him mutter as she headed for the Head's table. Her skin prickled, and she realized that a number of conversations had stopped, the participants preferring to watch her.

"Professor McGonagall, may I have a word?" she requested at the Head table. Professor McGonagall looked up from a half-written letter, and Harry noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

"What's so important that you feel it necessary to bother the Deputy-Headmistress, Potter?" Professor Snape asked in a condescending voice from Professor McGonagall's right side. He was also busy writing a letter - and when Harry glanced at the other professors, realized that all of them were in the process of sending letters. Even as she watched, Professors Sprout and Babbling floated their letters down the table to a stack before a man with only one real arm, who somehow still managed to tie the letters to owls' legs, sending them off one by one. A line of owls waited on the rafters, flying down when it was their turn.

Professor Snape looked like he was about to ask again, but Professor McGonagall prevented him from speaking by sighing. "I apologize, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid that other matters had driven all thoughts of your situation from my mind. Severus, do you mind?" She didn't wait for an answer before sliding her unfinished letter towards Snape, who accepted it with hardly a sneer. "Follow me, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall instructed, striding towards an arched door. "There's a safe chamber we can use."

Harry understood McGonagall's comment when she looked around the high-ceilinged room she was led to. There was only the one entrance, and the walls were completely covered with paintings and portraits of various shapes, but in such a manner that there was no way that any of them could hide a secret passage. Even the fireplace was travel-proofed with its large stone grate that blocked any possible Floo-travelers from stepping through.

"Sit." Professor McGonagall had conjured a matching set of wingbacked chairs. Harry sat after Professor McGonagall had seated herself. "I understand that you have been in contact with Remus Lupin. Has he any news on his progress towards gaining guardianship of you and your brother?"

"No, Professor," Harry said. "I got his last letter yesterday. The Ministry won't let him since he's a werewolf and has no legal claim otherwise."

Professor McGonagall gave a sharp nod. "I expected as much," she said, and her voice was more tired that Harry had heard it. "And I expect that you know how impossible it is for me to keep you here. I am only your temporary guardian while you remain a student at Hogwarts, and my claim will expire as soon as you step off of the Hogwarts Express in London."

"And then the Ministry gets me," Harry said glumly.

"The Ministry has extensive experience with finding homes for minors in situations similar to your own."

"My father says - " Harry broke off, and then restarted, more quietly, "My father said that the only decent people don't work in high enough levels to petition for guardianship. Besides," she added, "Remus says that I'll go to my nearest blood relatives. That's the Malfoy's."

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned. "Mr. Lupin is correct," she admitted. "In the absence or inability of anyone named in a will to care for you, you will be offered as a ward to your nearest blood relative capable of caring for you. If I'm not mistaken, Mrs. Tonks holds just as much claim, if not more, as Mrs. Malfoy."

Harry couldn't hold back that snort that bordered on hysteria. "Dad said that the Ministry is corrupt, especially the Wizengamot. Malfoy's got more money and is a pureblood."

"As is Mrs. Tonks," Professor McGonagall repeated. She leaned forward and patted Harry's hand. "Rest assured, Mr. Potter. You will not be going to the Malfoy's, no matter how upstanding a family they are." After a moment of tense silence, she added, "Your father has many friends who would be honored to watch over you and your brother while he is unable to do so himself."

Bitterly, Harry wondered who these friends were. She'd never heard her father speaking of another witch or wizard beyond that one time in Diagon Alley when he spoke with Mrs. Weasley, and only then because she'd approached him first.

"It will be taken care of," Professor McGonagall said. "Now, I've got a few more letters to write. The train will be here soon." As they retraced their steps towards the door, she said in a considerably softer tone, "Keep working through that book." There was no need to ask which book Professor McGonagall was referring to. "If you continue to progress as you've been, you'll be close to O.W.L. level by November."

"I will," Harry promised. Professor McGonagall didn't need to know that Harry had already worked through almost everything in the book up to large-scale semi-permanent Transfigurations. Now that she nearly knew how to disguise her figure, though, she'd be able to devote more time to practicing the easier bits.

Back in the Great Hall, students had already returned to their entertainment, and only a few of them glanced over at her as she walked back to her seat. Dean and Ernie had started a new game.

Harry had barely sat down when Parkinson's hand was in the air. After a brief discussion at the seventh year's table, June Tanaka stood and strode over. "What do you need?" she asked.

Parkinson wrinkled her pug-like nose at Tanaka but responded, "I need to visit the powder room."

Tanaka sighed, but assented with a nod. "Anyone else?" she asked the table. Harry slowly raised her hand; she hadn't had time to use the bathroom in the Tower, she'd been in such a hurry. "We'll have to make two stops, then," Tanaka sighed again. "Wait here for a minute while I get a professor to accompany us."

Harry and Pansy ignored each other as they waited for Tanaka to return. When the Prefect did come back, she had Lockhart on her heels, a blinding smile on his face despite the grim news of the morning. Harry wanted to hex him, or at the very least, hit several bludgers at him. Happily, though, nothing so violent was needed. Lockhart saw who he was going to be accompanying, and his smile slid. Harry grin toothily at him, and he took a step back before recovering himself and saying pompously to June Tanaka, "Why don't you lead the way, hmm? I'll guard the rear, to make sure nothing happens."

Harry was tempted to point out that the person at the rear was least likely to get hurt by a basilisk, but didn't, keeping her mouth shut instead. Lockhart didn't like her as it was, and had done his best to stay away from her since the disastrous dueling club where she'd been revealed to be a Parselmouth. Which was odd, considering that he'd tried to linger to talk to her afterwards; Harry could only assume that Snape's poisonous attitude towards Lockhart had something to do with it.

The four of them stopped at a boy's bathroom first, since there was one on the first floor that was readily accessible even with all of the roped-off corridors. Parkinson, though, refused to set foot in the boy's loo.

"But the nearest one that's open is on the third floor!" Tanaka pointed out, exasperated, as Parkinson just crossed her arms stubbornly across her chest, nose in the air.

"I won't set foot into such a dirty room," she insisted.

"It's perfectly clean," Harry grumbled. She wanted to get back to the Great Hall. Who knew where the basilisk was, although she at least was likely to have some sort of warning.

"It's demeaning for a lady to use the same room as a _boy_."

"Right," Harry muttered, just quietly enough that Tanaka would be able to hear her but Parkinson wouldn't. "Except I don't see any ladies." Tanaka's attempt at aborting her smile came out as a grimace, and Harry belatedly realized that she'd just insulted the Prefect as well, even if she didn't seem to mind.

"I'll use the loo on the second floor," Parkinson declared, and immediately Harry stiffened. That was right in the hall that George had been Petrified in on Halloween.

Tanaka obviously knew it too, and she objected. "That's been roped - "

"No, it hasn't," Parkinson interrupted. "Tell them, Professor."

"Hmm?" Lockhart looked over from where he'd been trying to fix his limp curls using the reflection from a suit of armor. "Yes, you're exactly right, Miss Parkinson."

"See?" Parkinson smirked.

"Fine!" Tanaka exclaimed. "But don't complain to me when Moaning Myrtle startles you on the pot!"

Harry choked at the image of a screaming Pansy leaping off the toilet, while Parkinson wrinkled her nose in disgust and muttered, "Half-blooded heathens."

"Let's go, then," Tanaka said, and lead the way up to the second floor. Harry stared at her feet the entire time, preferring to watch the boring stone floor than catch a glimpse of where George's frozen body had been strung up.

Once at the bathroom, Harry was left outside with Lockhart, who stared intensely at the writing on the wall, which had resisted all forms of magical cleaning and still read, _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Mudbloods and blood-traitors, beware._ She edged away from him and looked out the window, only to end up glaring at Hagrid's hut, which hadn't been lived in since Dumbledore had been kicked out.

Harry was still looked at Hagrid's hut when the door to the bathroom opened - too soon for Parkinson to be done - and Tanaka stepped out, face blank. As Harry watched, Tanaka raised her wand mechanically and pointed it at Lockhart. Without a single word spoken, Lockhart was on the ground, bound from head to toe in thick ropes, one of which blocked his mouth.

"Tanaka?" Harry asked, uncertain, hand hovering over her pocket. She grasped it and pulled it out, the incantation for a Shield Charm on her lips, as Tanaka turned her wand towards Harry.

"Protego!" Harry cried. The shield was weak, but managed to deflect Tanaka's spell before breaking. "What are you doing?! June?! June!" Harry had to duck two more of Tanaka's spells and sent off two hexes - the incantations were faster on her lips than the Disarming Spell - before she was close enough to shove the older girl, hard, into the wall.

Apparently, Harry had pushed June harder than she'd expected, because the prefect's head hit the wall with an audible _thud_, and she straightened up, blinking quickly.

"Potter?" June asked, wand lowering to a non-threatening position. "What just - ?" She shook her head. "I can't remember what - why is Professor Lockhart bound up like that?" she asked sharply. "Did you do that?" Lockhart made a muffled noise. They ignored him.

Harry shook her head. "You did," she said. "You came out of the bathroom and hexed him, and then tried to hex me. After you hit your head you seemed to - I don't know - snap out of it or something."

"I don't remember any of that," June said, frowning. "I just remember the nicest feeling, like I didn't have anything in the world - to…" she trailed off brokenly, and then she cursed. Harry jumped. She didn't think she'd ever heard a Prefect curse before. "Imperius," June said, and Harry gaped.

"What?"

"It's the only explanation." The door to the bathroom began to open, and June shoved Harry behind her, wand up and ready.

She wasn't fast enough. The rust-brown spell sent June flying backwards, knocking Harry over. Eyes watering in pain, Harry didn't realize that she'd lost her wand until she drew both hands away from her nose; June's elbow had smashed into Harry's glasses, and the bridge had cut into her skin hard enough to draw blood.

And then the pain was gone. Everything was gone, in fact, except for a pleasant floating feeling. Harry smiled. She hadn't been so happy since - well, ever. Harry didn't think she'd ever been so happy as she was now; she didn't have a single care in the world. This was even better than Quidditch, better than flying.

_Stand up and get your wand_. Harry thought that sounded like a very good idea, and stood up. Her wand had rolled to a stop against Lockhart's heeled boots; when she bent to pick it up, a drop of blood ran off her nose and dripped on her outstretched hand. A flash of pain, and then everything was calm again and her wand was in her hand. She stood obediently.

"Obliviate him." The words reverberating through her head as well as from somewhere to her left, and she raised her wand. She'd never like Lockhart; might as well Obliviate him. It seemed like a good idea. _Why?_ a voice said slyly. _He's an idiot, but he doesn't deserve an Obliviation._ Her wand wavered, and then she began to lower it. "Do it. Obliviate him, now!"

Harry was fighting her hand; it started to raise of its own accord, but she forced it back down. "No!" she said, wrenching herself free of the spell. Immediately, the pain from her nose hit her full-force. Her eyes began watering, but she aimed her wand at Parkinson as best she could.

"Oh, for the love of - " Only it wasn't Parkinson. Parkinson was slumped against the wall, hands crossed over a small black diary on her lap, complexion a frightening bone white. The person who'd spoken was a boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, a Prefect's badge gleaming on his Slytherin robes. "_Confundo_," he hissed, and Harry sprang sideways, only to trip on Lockhart's legs. "Stupefy."

* * *

She picked herself up slowly, blinking in confusion. "Whas'appenin?" she slurred. Harry shook her head and tried again. "What just happened?"

"You were hit with a stray spell after Professor Lockhart attacked the Gryffindor prefect." Harry looked over at the boy who was speaking, and immediately trusted him. He was handsome and a Prefect and the nicest person she'd ever met.

"Oh," was all she could say. She felt herself blushing. How could she have been so stupid? He must think her such a fool! She looked around. She didn't recognize any of the surroundings. "Where are we?" she asked. "I don't think I've been in this part of Hogwarts before." She took a better look at the large, dark chamber. "It could use a bit of cleaning. The house-elves aren't doing a very good job in here."

"Of course they aren't," the prefect drawled. His voice was as smooth as crushed velvet. "They don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is, do they?" Harry nodded. Of course. How could she have been so stupid?! The boy made a disgusted noise. "It's no fun like this," he muttered.

"What's that?" Harry asked, worried. Wasn't he happy? What had she done wrong?!

"Finite."

Harry froze, information flooding her senses like water let out from a dam. She took in the soaring stone columns and flickering green candles of the legendary Chamber of Secrets; the carefully arranged Pansy Parkinson, dressed in a lacy white nightdress, on top of what could only be a sacrificial bier, her hands securing the black journal to her chest; the towering stone statue of a man with a thin, Dumbledore-esque beard that did little to disguise his monkey-like face nearly twenty feet above Harry's head.

"Like it?" The boy's question reminded Harry of his presence. "I hope you do." He didn't sound like he did. "It is, after all, the last thing you'll ever see."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Just a warning: chapter includes mentions of rape of a minor.

* * *

Harry didn't know how to react to the blatant threat except to search her pockets frantically for her wand.

"Looking for this?" the boy asked casually. Harry looked over at him; he was holding her wand casually, with just the very tips of his fingers.

"Give it back!" she demanded, stepping towards him.

"Ah, ah, ah," the boy clicked his tongue in a condescending manner, pointing Harry's own wand at her. "I'd stay where you are if I were you."

Snarling silently in rage and frustration, Harry stayed where she was. "What do you want?" she asked "Why'd you bring me down here? Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm sure you've heard of me," the boy sneered at her barrage of questions. "Everyone has, after all. Care to take a guess?" He smirked, twirling her wand in his fingers; green and red sparks trailed from the tip, vanishing before they hit the dark stone floor.

"Gee, I don't know," Harry said sarcastically, even though her common sense told her to _shut up_ before she got herself cursed. "Dumbledore?"

The boy's face contorted into a mask of rage, and her wand was once again aiming straight between her eyes. "Dumbledore!" the boy shrieked, and he was no longer remotely handsome. His eyes flared an inhuman red, and Harry knew instinctively who this was. One of the few details ever published about Voldemort was that his eyes were redder than blood. "That old fool!? How dare you insult me in such a way! Comparing me to a wizard so weak, so ridiculous, so foolish - "

"Yes, you mentioned that one already," Harry pointed out in a faux-helpful tone, the one that so annoyed Alex when he'd been working on his summer Transfiguration homework. "Senile might work better, since I'm pretty sure you've got 'insane' covered."

The boy sputtered in rage. "You _dare_," he breathed, "you _dare_ to insult me? Me?! The greatest wizard the world has ever known!"

Even knowing that she was _inches_ away from being killed or tortured - she'd heard the horror stories the older boys told in the locker rooms - Harry shrugged and inspected her nails, doing her very best impression of Daphne Greengrass, the epitome of the 'proper' behavior for a pureblood Scion. "You mean Merlin, this time?" she asked carelessly. "Or are you referring to Dumbledore, again?"

"_Ictum_!" the boy who she suspected was Voldemort snarled.

Harry cried out in shock at the sudden pain. It felt like a thousand bees had just stung every inch of her body; even standing still was torture, though when she looked at her hands - perhaps the most painful part of her body aside from her feet - they looked no different than they had a few minutes before.

"I am greater than any wizard!" the boy declared, more than a little touch of insanity in his voice. "I am Lord Voldemort." He cackled.

"Funnily enough, I'd worked that out," Harry managed to spit out through lips that felt like they'd swollen to thrice their normal size.

Somehow, Voldemort had heard her through his laughter. "How?" he demanded suspiciously, dark eyes narrowed. He stalked towards her. "How did you know who I was? Tell me!"

Even though Harry didn't want to say anything, she felt compelled to speak. "Your eyes were red," she said. "I heard stories about you in the locker rooms."

Voldemort relaxed, but Harry continued to speak, struggling to stop with every word she spoke. "And I saw your wraith last June. Black smoke and red eyes and a demon's face."

His body tensed visibly. "Why was I a wraith? What was I doing here?"

Harry frowned. "Don't you remember?"

He gave a mirthless chuckle. "That Voldemort wasn't _me_," he said proudly, his eyes glinting red once more. "I am a mere _memory_, and see how powerful I am! But answer my question," he snapped.

Once more, Harry was talking against her better judgement, although this time she managed to leave out some information. "I don't know why you're a wraith." A lie; obviously, he'd died but hadn't moved on. Only the darkest of Black Magic could turn a ghost into a wraith; that was all they'd learned from Quirrell about the subject, and Harry hadn't been interested enough to search further on her own time, so she didn't rightly know the exact reason. "You came for something of Dumbledore's, I don't know what." Another lie, but like with the previous fib, he didn't seem to be able detect her falsehoods; the other Voldemort had been able to.

Voldemort frowned and began to mutter to himself. Harry caught the words "Dumbledore", "fool", and "illogical", but her attention was on Parkinson, lain out on the bier as a sacrifice, though what sort of sacrifice, she didn't know.

"Ah, yes, I see you've begun to use that pitiful excuse of a brain of yours," Voldemort sneered. Harry glared at him as he stalked away from her over to the bier and, almost tenderly, stroked Parkinson's fringe off her forehead. "Come here," he commanded.

"No."

For the third time, Harry found herself staring at the business end of her own wand. "If you do as I say," Voldemort snarled, "I may let you live at the end of all this. My other self did, so clearly you aren't altogether worthless." Harry felt it was best not to mention that the wraith had sworn to kill her, painfully, before fleeing from Hogwarts. "Now."

Reluctantly, Harry approached Parkinson and Voldemort; the wand never once wavered from her chest, and she wondered what curse he'd had prepared.

"Good, good," Voldemort praised. She glared at him. "Now take off your robes." The wand twitched threateningly when she hesitated; ten seconds later, she was stepping over her robes. "Gryffindor?" Voldemort sneered. "No matter. You'll do."

"For what?" Harry wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer, and Voldemort's twisted smirk told her that she wasn't going to like what he was about to say.

"Deflower her," he said casually, almost an offer.

Harry's mouth dropped open. "What?" she gasped. "No way! I won't! I can't!"

"I assure you, boy, you're plenty old enough for your equipment to work properly. You play Quidditch, so I know you know how these things work. Now, do it!" Once again, Harry could hear the irrefutable command in his voice, but her earlier practice in resisting it and her physical inability to do as he demanded allowed her to cross her arms and refuse.

"I will not. Why won't you do it yourself?!" she asked desperately, and immediately guilt flooded her. She'd not been too far from Parkinson's position last June, only Harry had been conscious at the time.

"I can't, you idiot boy! I'm a _memory_."

"You're holding a wand, and you've done magic," Harry pointed out stubbornly.

"That's different! Now, _do as I say_."

"I can't," Harry found the words dragging themselves from her mouth.

"Oh? A eunich? I didn't know that the old families had taken up the practice again, Potter."

"How do you know my name?"

Voldemort gestured to Parkinson. "Now, _tell me why you can't_." Again, he used his power and whatever trick it was that forced her to speak at least a partial truth; in this matter, though, there was only the full truth to be had.

"I'm a g -" Harry slammed her jaw shut.

"Now, now, none of that." He was speaking softly now, cajoling her. A sense of calm crept over her, and even though she _knew_ that he'd cast some sort of charm, she couldn't resist it.

"I'm a girl." The words came out as a sort of sigh.

"Excuse me?" Voldemort sounded both incredulous and furious. "You're a _what_?"

Harry didn't answer, and tried to take a step back, but Voldemort was quicker than she was. Her limbs snapped to her side and she toppled over, landing on her back rather than smashing her face against the floor. It still hurt, though.

Then she heard Voldemort mutter some sort of incantation, and his frustrated, "Mordred and Morgana!", and then silence. After a minute of nerve-wracking silence, Riddle appeared in her line of vision. "You're worthless to me, then," he said blandly. "Not even that good-looking of a girl, if you can pass yourself off as male. My snake's been hungry," he continued conversationally, stepping away, although Harry didn't hear either his footsteps or his robes as he moved. "While I fetch someone who _is_ useful, you'll provide at least some entertainment. Finite."

Harry could move, and she immediately scrambled to her feet, searching desperately for some escape route, but the only thing she could see were the columns and the statue. Even the walls were difficult to really see; the only light in the chamber was provided by the flickering green light of the candles clustered around the bier.

_"Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Founders!"_ The sibilant undertone told her that it was Parseltongue, but Harry didn't spin around until she heard a loud, ominous grinding noise. The mouth of the statue - Slytherin, apparently, had been rather vain - was slowly lowering.

"The basilisk," Harry whispered in horror, backing towards the shadows of the columns.

"That's right, _girl_. And she'll be very pleased to eat you. She's been begging to eat something all year, but the damn girl couldn't manage to kill anyone." Voldemort cast an irritated glare at Parkinson. Harry noticed, for the first time, that Parkinson's fingers were red. _Blood?_ Harry wondered, but didn't have any more time to dwell on it. The sound of scales on stone - sliding, slithering, rough and smooth at the same time - came echoing up from Slytherin's stone craw. She turned and bolted, ignoring Voldemort's pleased laughter. "That's right! Run! Give her something to hunt!"

A thud sounded. Harry darted behind a pillar and clung to its bumpy carvings, desperately trying to still her breathing. She was out of the light, and if she stayed really _really_ quiet…maybe, just _maybe_. Her thoughts spun wildly, finally alighting on something that might save her, and she was actually touching the Portkey her father had given her - perhaps the last one he would ever give her - when she remembered Parkinson, laid out on the bier. She let the Portkey drop back against her chest. Parkinson might be a Slytherin, but she was also a girl. Alex wouldn't ever leave a girl to such a fate as that which awaited Parkinson, and Harry could do no less.

_"Massster_." Harry's skin crawled. The basilisk's voice was a thousand times more terrible now that she knew what it was, now that she was in the same room, now that she was the prey, the Snitch to the basilisk's Seeker. She wished she could at least act a little braver, but the only thing she could think about was the heavy slide of the basilisk on the stone floor.

_"There is a girl for you to hunt,"_ Riddle spoke again. _"She hides from you, greatest of serpents. Smell her, catch her, and she is yours to eat."_

_"Masster isss good."_

_"Yes, yes, go eat her already. Try to finish before I return."_ If the situation hadn't been so grave, Harry might have been amused by how bored Voldemort sounded with the snake's slower reasoning.

Harry didn't know if Voldemort had left or not; she was only paying attention to the ponderous rasp of scale on stone as it drew closer, and then further away. She let out a breath, and the sound halted. She froze, not even daring to blink; she wished that she could tell her heart to stop being so loud, lest the basilisk -

_"I hear you, little rabbit. Fresh and warm and sssscared. Come to me, let me hold you, let me tassste your fear."_

She barely managed to stop herself from whimpering; only the overwhelming need to keep quiet prevented it from escaping. Harry pressed her cheek against the carving that projected from the pillar. A sharp corner hit her bruised - but mercifully no longer bleeding - nose, and she jerked back. Too loudly. The basilisk's movements paused, and then the noise moved in a different direction - her direction.

She squinted into the darkness before realizing that she couldn't look at the basilisk. Her hands trembled against the stone carvings.

_Can I climb it?_ Harry wondered, but all that she succeeded in doing was scraping her fingertips. The basilisk was closer than ever. _Run or hide?_

A sudden thud, and the basilisk let out an angry, wordless hiss. Harry could only imagine that it had collided with a pillar. Hopefully, it had hurt itself. Another, louder thud, but this time Harry wasn't glad at all, because a massive groaning noise filled the chamber. And then came the grinding, stone on stone: the basilisk had knocked a pillar loose.

An enormous booming sounded, and more groaning followed. Harry swore and bolted in the direction opposite where the noise was coming from. She had only gone a few yards when the pillar landed; she staggered as the floor jumped beneath her, but managed to stay on her feet.

The basilisk was hissing madly behind her, _"Nasssty ssstonessss! Falling where you should notsss be falling!"_

A series of crushing sounds followed Harry as she ran back towards the only light in the chamber, a single thought pulsing in her mind. She stumbled to a halt next to Parkinson on the bier; the Slytherin's skin was tinged with green from the flames - she looked like she was half-dead from Dragon-Pox.

"Where are they, where are they?" Harry muttered, searching frantically for Parkinson's robes. They had to be nearby. Parkinson hadn't been wearing the nightdress earlier, she knew. It was long enough to completely cover the girl's feet, and definitely would've showed under her robes. She found what she was looking for tucked underneath the bier, but only because a corner of Parkinson's skirt, just a few shades lighter than the stone floor, wasn't fully obscured by the shadows.

Harry pulled the skirt and then fished around blindly for the rest of her clothes. She ignored everything except for Parkinson's robes, which she straightened out; her fingers met a hard length of wood in the inside breast pocket, and Harry drew out the wand as quickly as she dared without accidentally breaking it.

"Thank Merlin," she whispered. Even though she knew that the wand wouldn't work nearly as well as her own and that even the most dangerous spell she knew - a Cutting Curse - wasn't likely to do much more than mildly irritate the basilisk, she felt better as soon as the wood warmed in her hands.

As Harry ran her fingers lightly over Parkinson's wand, contemplating what the core was, she realized that the chamber was far too silent. Her breathing sounded like a bellows to her ears, and her frantic search under the bier flashed through her mind. The basilisk could be anywhere, ready to strike. Terror flooded through her like ice, making her stomach clench and her heart stutter before pounding furiously in anticipation and dread.

_Don't turn_, Harry told herself. She had no indication of where the basilisk was; for all she knew, it could be just behind her, waiting for her to turn around and kill herself with a single glance at its eyes. But she wanted to turn, wanted to look so badly that it took all of her will to stay on her knees, Parkinson's robes draped over her lap and the unfamiliar wand in her hand.

Harry directed the wand to Parkinson's cast aside skirt and whispered, "_Gallovorto_." A few orange sparks spat out of the tip of the wand, and something in the dark shadows to her left shifted. The basilisk.

"_Gallovorto_," Harry repeated, making the requisite motion and imagining the skirt transforming into a rooster. The skirt twitched; the sound of scales on stone sped up. Her panic rose, and over and over, she said the incantation, not bothering to hush her voice any more. "_Gallovorto_. _Gallovorto_. Come on, _gallovorto_!" Harry didn't close her eyes when the slithering grew far too close for comfort. If it did get her - well, she'd rather be dead when it swallowed her, and the book had said that death was instantaneous and painless, although how the author had known that was beyond her. _Sally-Anne would know_, the voice in her head pointed out. "Shut up, Alex," Harry muttered, glaring at the skirt. She thought she saw something moving from the corner of her eye, but focused her gaze on the skirt. "_Gallovorto_!"

The cloth gathered itself up and melded smoothly into a rooster, as if it had only been waiting for the proper time. Harry squeezed her eyes shut; the motion in the corner of her eyes was getting closer. "Lumos!"

The wand lit up, and the rooster crowed.

The effect was immediate. Harry didn't know exactly how far away the basilisk was, but its thrashing and agonized hissing were so deafening that she suspected she wouldn't have had time to try the transfiguration even one more time.

Harry didn't know how long the basilisk convulsed for, but when it stopped, the silence was screamed even as her heart continued to pound wildly. Slowly, Harry opened her eyes. The rooster was pecking around the base of the bier, and as she watched, the feathers faded into folded fabric. "_Veraverto_," she said, half-heartedly pointing the wand at the rapidly degrading bird. In an instant, the skirt was back.

Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Harry allowed her head to turn. The basilisk was half hidden in the shadows beyond the bier's circle of light, perhaps a third of the length of the Quidditch pitch away. Her eyes dragged along the coils of scaled body that, for all their tight loops, were utterly lax. Only after two complete scans of the dead snake did Harry realize that she was trembling so badly that the tip of Parkinson's wand was tapping out an uneven rhythm on the stone floor. Taking a deep breath, she managed to get the trembling to stop, and then she carefully tucked the wand into her pocket.

Harry stood and looked at Parkinson. The bier was tall enough that the tip of Parkinson's nose came up to Harry's shoulder. It struck Harry how very _white_ Parkinson seemed; even the green tinge from the candles couldn't hide the stark paleness. In fact, the only two things on the bier that weren't white - aside from the stone of the bier itself, which was the same color as everything else in the chamber: dull grey - were Parkinson's hair, and the journal arranged just below Parkinson's heart.

It seemed…wrong, somehow, although Harry wasn't able to say exactly why she felt so. In any case, though, she didn't have much time to think. A grinding noise announced Voldemort's return to the Chamber. Harry snatched the book from Parkinson's hands and ran to the one place she knew Voldemort wouldn't look for her.

She only had a minute to hide herself, and she tried to stay as quiet as she could as she scrabbled over the scales of the basilisk. They weren't as smooth as she'd expected; the dark green scales along the side of the snake were about the size of her hand, and with ridges running the length of them. The edges of the scales were very sharp, and by the time Harry managed to wedge herself between two giant coils, she had a large cut on her knee from where she'd slipped, as well as at least three smaller cuts on her hands.

"_I have returned, great serpent!_" Voldemort announced himself, the sibilant words taking longer than normal to be swallowed by the cavernous room. "_Has your hunt been successful? Have you sated your hunger? Am I not a benevolent master?_"

Harry hunkered down, and then flinched when another voice spoke. "I'll say - what an odd noise that was! Do you live here? Your décor is really quite glum."

"Shut up, you great buffoon. If I didn't need you for the ritual, I would've killed you already. _Shining serpent, your master commands you to come forth!_"

"My word! Was that you making that dreadful - "

"Silencio! Go stand over there."

Harry held her breath as a set of footsteps approached, but they didn't so much as pause. In fact, she heard a faint humming that faded away with the footsteps. Apparently, the silencing spell hadn't worked very well.

"_There you are, you lazy beast. Get up!_" Voldemort had given no indication of his approach, not even an accidental scuff of a shoe against the stone floor, but his voice was loud enough to be only a few feet away. After a moment tense silence, Voldemort swore violently in Parseltongue. It was translated into something that approached 'may eagles steal your eggs and drop them from the sky'. "Girl!" Voldemort bellowed, and Harry flinched, but the voice was already traveling further away. "You killed my pet! Come out now, and I'll grant you an easy death! If you wait, once I am whole, I will make the remaining weeks of your life so painful that you will be begging me for the mercy of death before a day is out! I swear it on my Slytherin blood! You will _die_!"

Harry didn't move, although a small part of her wanted to stand up boldly and attack him. The rest of her, though, kept her right where she was; aside from Lockhart's humming, everything was quiet. After less than a minute, Voldemort snarled, "So be it!". Hardly thirty seconds later, a scream of rage drowned out the pleasant humming that was so out of place in the Chamber. "Where is it!" Voldemort shrieked, and Harry shivered, hand clenching around the journal. He'd never sounded so much like the wraith she'd met at the end of last year; this version of Voldemort had seemed more human. "Accio diary! Accio Horcrux!" The journal - diary, apparently - twitched in her hand, but was weaker than Lavender's kitten in its attempts to fly towards Voldemort. Harry's relief was short lived, though, since, after a moment of indecipherable muttering, Voldemort cried out, "Accio diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

The diary leapt from her hands so fast that only her Seeker's reflexes allowed her to snatch it back. It was too little, too late. Voldemort had seen the motion and bellowed triumphantly. "I've got you now, girl!" The voice was rapidly growing louder, and Harry didn't have to look to see that he was running.

She hauled herself onto the sloping back of the basilisk and began to run along its length, not knowing whether she was going to the snake's head or tail. She didn't have time to think, though; Voldemort had fired off several Stunning spells - something she'd heard older students practicing in preparation for the N.E.W.T.'s, and the incantation was something of a give-away - but all of them missed, ricocheting off of the basilisk's scales in all directions.

"No!" Voldemort howled, and fired off more spells. Harry couldn't recognize the incantations for any of them, and made extra sure to duck any of the rebounding spells that came in her direction.

One of the spells - a sickly-looking yellow - split into four separate, smaller jets of light as it approached the basilisk's back just in front of her. With a shriek, Harry tried to leap to the nearest coil. Her foot slipped, and instead of landing on the top of the adjacent coil, the side of her body slammed into the body of the serpent. She ended up on the floor, side twinging in pain with each breath she took. She thought she'd heard a harsh snapping sound when she'd hit the basilisk.

"Show yourself, you coward!" Voldemort shouted. "You're no Gryffindor!"

Anger seethed inside of her, and even though her side protested every motion, Harry stood up, the diary still clenched in her hand. When she looked towards where Voldemort's voice had come from, though, she couldn't stop the scream that burst from her mouth.

If the basilisk had still been alive, Harry would have been dead. She was staring directly at one of the snake's enormous, yellow eyes, which was at least as big as a Quaffle. Voldemort was forgotten as her eyes flicked from the yellow eye, which was still bright enough to make her nervous, to the basilisk's mouth, which was lined with fangs that varied in size from the length of her forearm to the length of her leg. She'd never even heard of a snake with so many fangs. Even Runespoors only had two fangs per head.

"Hand me the diary."

In her horrified trance, Harry had forgotten about Voldemort. Now he stood just beyond the curve of the basilisk's neck, with only shadows behind him, pointing Harry's wand towards her. She took a step back, goose pimples erupting all over when she bumped into the basilisk's lower jaw. "No."

"Don't be silly, girl. Hand me the diary, and I'll show you mercy."

"Why do you care so much?" Harry asked. "You're Voldemort. It's just a diary. "

Voldemort lowered Harry's wand slightly. "Wrong. It's _my_ diary, and a bit more than that." He smirked, but Harry frowned.

"You called it the diary of Tom something Riddle when you tried to Summon it."

The smirk slid from his face, to be replaced with a sneer. "The name my mother gave me just before she died, no better than a common _muggle_. I am Lord Voldemort, a name that reflects my greatness."

Harry scoffed, and immediately, her wand was being pointed at her again. Voldemort - Tom Riddle - glared at her. "Now give me the diary," he said, voice so benign that Harry knew it had to be fake. "Or I'll make you give it to me."

Harry lifted her chin. The Sorting Hat might have preferred to place her in Ravenclaw, but she was a Gryffindor as well. "I don't think I will," she replied in just as calm a voice, and before Voldemort could do more than begin to jab her wand at her, Harry whirled around and slammed the diary onto one of the short fangs that protruded into empty air where the basilisk's mouth hung open.

Screams filled the air as ink spurted and sprayed from the perforated diary. Screams from Voldemort, higher-pitched screams from further away, and shrill screeches from the diary itself that were so piercing that Harry's hands flew of their own volition to cover her ears and she curled in around herself in an attempt to block the noise from reaching her ears, the pain in her ribs disregarded in the mind-splitting cacophony.

The screams echoed through the chamber for a long time after Harry saw her wand drop to the floor, its clattering lost in the discordant wails. When she did uncurl herself, the pain in her side spiking sharply, she still heard phantom ringing in her ears.

Instead of standing up, Harry leaned against the basilisk, letting her head rest against the scales as well, careless of whether or not her hair got caught in the sharp edges and grooves.

Except for the steady dripping of ink from the diary onto the floor next to her, the chamber was silent. Harry closed her eyes as a wave of exhaustion swept over her. Her adrenaline had finally worn off, and at the moment, she wanted nothing more than to find the nearest bed and collapse onto it.

Parkinson's reedy, "Get away from me, you pervert!" prevented Harry from dozing off.

Lockhart's, "Pervert? Where?" was no help either, and Harry resigned herself to at least another hour of being awake.

She didn't bother stifling her groan as she stood up, tugged the diary off of the basilisk's fang and tucked the still-oozing book into her largest pocket, and gingerly bent to pick up her wand. It thrummed under her fingers, the warmth of Parkinson's borrowed wand paling by comparison.

When she finally found her way out from the maze of basilisk coils, Parkinson was still questioning Lockhart, although her voice had lost its thin trembling. "Where are we? Where's my wand?"

"You know, I'm really not sure. And - er - what _is_ a wand?"

"How can you not know what a wand is?! You're Gilderoy Lockhart!"

"I am? What an odd name."

Harry finally stepped into the circle of light provided by the candles. Parkinson had moved off the bier and had wrapped her robes around herself, and looked thoroughly irritated with Lockhart.

"I've got your wand," Harry said, finding it in her robes and holding it out towards Parkinson as she approached the two of them. The Slytherin snatched it from her with a glare.

"Oh, hello there. Who are you?" Harry and Parkinson both ignored Lockhart.

"What are _you_ doing here, Potter?" Parkinson sneered, but Harry thought that the sneer wasn't a malicious as it had been in the past. "Do you know why Professor Lockhart is being so stupid?" Before Harry could even open her mouth, Parkinson was continuing, "Of course you don't. You're an idiot Gryffindor. Well? Answer the question."

"Erm - I'm not sure why Lockhart's acting like he is, but he sounds like he's been Obliviated or Confunded. And we're in the Chamber of Secrets."

Parkinson's mouth dropped open as she looked around, taking in the towering statue, soaring pillars, and half-visible body of the basilisk, and finally, alighting on the bier.

"Oh my - " she gasped, clutching her robes around herself even tighter. For the first time, she didn't look mean or aloof. "What - why are we here?"

Harry glanced at the bier. "I - er - well - "

"Just spit it out, Potter. I'm not stupid. I was supposed to be sacrificed, wasn't I?"

Harry nodded.

"Well? Who was it? What was the purpose of the ritual? And why, in Maeve's good name, are you here?" Parkinson glared at Harry as if the whole situation was her fault.

Harry considered what to say, and decided to start with what she knew for certain. "Do you remember asking to use the loo?" By Parkinson's frown, she did not. "Well, do you remember that Perks is dead?"

This time, Parkinson sneered. "Obviously."

"Well at least that's something," Harry sneered back, and then bit her tongue. "Professor McGonagall announced that the school's closing and that we were supposed to wait until the train came. Then you asked to use the loo, and I needed to go too, so Prefect Tanaka and Lockhart escorted us. You refused to use the boy's loo, so we went to Myrtle's bathroom." As she spoke, Harry watched Parkinson's expressions. The Slytherin's frown grew as Harry spoke, but she didn't interrupt Harry's story. "Tanaka came out and attacked me and Lockhart, but I managed to snap her out of it. You came out of the bathroom and attacked Tanaka, but couldn't get me, and then…" Harry trailed off, wondering how well Parkinson would take it if Harry said that Voldemort had appeared. "A prefect I'd never seen was there and knocked me out."

"Which prefect?" Parkinson asked. "I probably know them."

"Tom Riddle," Harry said, and watched as Parkinson blanched. "Do you know him?"

Parkinson recovered herself. "Yes," she said stiffly. "I do. What was the ritual for?"

"I don't know. Professor Dumbledore might."

"Who?" Lockhart asked. "I don't think I've met them yet."

"And my diary?"

"Gone."

Parkinson scowled. "Where is it, Potter?"

"The basilisk ate it," Harry lied. "Feel free to retrieve it, if you like. I'm going to get out of here."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" Parkinson asked. "We're in the Chamber of Secrets. Headmasters have looked for it for centuries, and none of them have found it. We haven't got any chance of finding the way out."

"Maybe not," Harry snapped, "but Lockhart over there was walked in. Maybe he'll remember."

"Fat chance," Parkinson scoffed, but Harry ignored her.

"Excuse me, Professor Lockhart?" she asked.

"I'm a professor?" he asked, surprised, and then grinned. "Taught you all you know, I expect."

"Sure." She didn't feel like trying to reason with him, even if he wasn't an eighth as irritating as he'd been before whatever it was Riddle had done to him. "How did you get in here?"

Lockhart beamed. "I walked, of course, with that nice boy." A frown crept onto his face. "He was rather pretty. But I'm prettier," he added, the smile coming back.

"Of course. But could you lead us out of here?"

Lockhart puffed his chest out. "I can do anything!" he exclaimed. Harry grinned at Parkinson, who just stuck her nose in the air. "Or, I think I can," Lockhart added. "Which way did I come from, again?"

Harry sighed. "That way," she said, gesturing past the basilisk towards the only break in the rows of columns.

As Lockhart strode eagerly in the direction Harry had indicated, Parkinson glared at Harry. "If we die down here, it's your fault." Then she stalked past Harry, lighting up the tip of her wand as she followed Lockhart. Harry shook her head in disbelief - Slytherins! - and took up the rear, not even bothering to glance at the basilisk as she passed it.


	18. Chapter 18

Despite Parkinson's doubts, Lockhart managed to lead them to an enormous stone door. "Well, that's nice," Parkinson snarked when none of them could open the door. "We've got a door, but no way to get out."

Harry glared at her. "If you can't help, shut up."

Parkinson sniffed, but didn't say anything else. Harry turned to the door. She had already tried both of the unlocking spells she knew, as well as asking the door politely, tickling it where a door handle should have been, and kicking it in frustration. Since it was made of stone, all she achieved from her efforts were a sore toe and a frustration-born headache.

Lockhart was sitting contently at the base of the door, humming the same tune as earlier, a vacant smile on his face. Parkinson vacillated between glaring at Lockhart, telling him to shut up, and urging Harry to 'do something before we die of starvation, will you?'.

Harry ignored Parkinson's impatient sighs as she ran her fingers over where a door handle should have been. It wasn't as smooth as she'd thought; a series of raised squiggles and bumps pressed against the pads of her fingers, and she brought her wand closer to the door. A carving of three entwined snakes was thrown into sharp relief, and the memory of Voldemort calling forth the basilisk surged forward.

"Er - open?" Harry tried.

"What are you doing now, Potter?" Parkinson asked. "It didn't work last time you asked the door to open, why do you think it'll work now?"

Harry didn't answer the question. Instead, she closed her eyes and imagined that the basilisk was right before her. "_Open_."

Parkinson gasped, and a deep grinding sound began. Harry's eyes flew open and she scrambled backwards as the doors swung towards her. Lockhart was less lucky, and was pushed for several feet before he managed to get out of the way.

"I forgot that you're a Parselmouth," Parkinson said, and this time she wasn't nearly as antagonistic. If Harry didn't know better, she would've said that Parkinson sounded respectful.

"Lucky you," Harry muttered. "Come on, let's go."

For a good ten minutes, Harry led the way through a round, cave-like tunnel large enough to fit at least three basilisks. Lockhart often had to be reminded to keep up, since he kept getting distracted by the roughly-hewn rocks and the basilisk skin that stretched for a good forty feet, even doubled up on itself in some places.

Finally, though, they came to another chamber, although this one was much smaller than the one they'd left behind. The ceiling was only a few feet above Harry's head, and the ovular floor was completely covered with a layer of animal skeletons that ranged in size from a mouse to what looked like a deer or small horse. When Parkinson nearly fell over a human-shaped skull, neither of them said anything, and Parkinson was much quieter afterwards.

"How do we get out?" Parkinson asked as they stared around the chamber. There were round tunnels leading out in every direction, even one that went straight up from the center of the ceiling.

Harry didn't answer. She was squinting at the tunnels, all of which were slightly raised off the ground and which looked considerably smoother inside than the tunnel that lead back to the Chamber of Secrets. "Are those…pipes?" she asked at last.

"You think I know what pipes look like?" Parkinson demanded, but then added. "They might be, maybe. But even if they are, which one do we take? There must be at least a dozen of them."

Harry considered the pipes again, before pointing to the one at the narrowest part of the ovular room. "That one."

"Why that one?" Parkinson asked, staring at the pipe that Harry had indicated.

Harry shrugged, not entirely sure herself. "It's the biggest."

Parkinson scoffed, but didn't say anything except, "You're going first."

It wasn't easy going. The pipe was tall enough that even Lockhart could stand up, and the degree of curvature of the pipe large enough that they could walk semi-comfortably, but the slope upwards was steep. The pain in Harry's side grew with every breath until the only thing that kept her going was how much grief Alex would feel if she didn't make it back, and how bitterly Parkinson would complain if she had to carry Harry the rest of the way up.

By the time the pipe leveled out slightly, Harry could hardly stay upright from the stabbing in her side, and Parkinson and Lockhart were panting. The pipe had curved steadily to the right the entire climb, every so often intersecting with other, smaller pipes, and it had been Parkinson who had first realized that they were in the castle's plumbing.

"Where do you think we'll come out?" Parkinson asked between gasping breaths.

Harry forced out an answer. "Myrtle's bathroom." It was the only thing that made sense. Parkinson - although she couldn't remember it - had insisted on using the bathroom even though it was out of bounds.

And Harry's guess was right. When she hissed at the small round door at the end of the pipe to open, she stepped into a bathroom crowded with adults, all of whom were gaping at her.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, forcing her way past a pair of serious looking wizards.

Harry managed to give Professor McGonagall a shaky smile before she coughed, spraying blood onto the sink next to her. "Sorry," she said, her voice oddly distant, before everything around her faded into darkness.

* * *

It was quiet when Harry woke up. She reached automatically for her spectacles, not noticing that her side didn't hurt until after she'd settled them on her nose. A quick glance around the room told her that she was exactly where she'd expected to wake up: the Hospital Wing.

Almost immediately, Madam Pomfrey was bustling towards her from behind a pair of privacy curtains.

"There you are, Mr. Potter. I'm glad to see that you've woken on schedule. No, don't sit up. I need to do some scans."

Harry lay back down, but asked, "How long have I been asleep? What was wrong with me?"

"You've been asleep for a little more than a day, as well you should have. I had to pour six potions down your throat to keep you from aspirating on your own blood. You had three cracked ribs and one broken rib that had punctured your lung - luckily for you, it didn't do so until you fainted in the bathroom - and that's not mentioning the cuts and bruises, or the slight nerve damage and residue from various compulsion charms. Nasty business, the lot of it."

Madam Pomfrey cast a spell that made her body tingle all over, and then declared herself finished. "But you'll be staying here for observation until dinner," the witch warned Harry.

Harry finished struggling upright - Madam Pomfrey was a staunch believer in well-starched sheets and tucking patients in so firmly that they were all but pinned in place - and shrugged. She didn't have any classes or Quidditch to get to, so it didn't much matter.

"Do you need anything before I leave?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

Harry's eyes drifted over to the curtains that Madam Pomfrey had been working behind. "Is the Mandrake Draught ready?" she asked.

"Nearly," Madam Pomfrey said shortly. "I still have to make sure that the poor dears are receiving a proper amount of nutrients each day."

"Oh. Do you know when it'll be ready?"

"Professor Snape predicts that it will be done maturing in two days or so. With luck, they'll all be awake by this time on Sunday."

"Oh." It was Friday, assuming she'd only been asleep for a day. "What about Parkinson and Lockhart?"

"Miss Parkinson had no injuries, and has been collected by her parents. Mr. Lockhart was transferred to St. Mungo's."

"What for?" Harry asked, uncertain if Madam Pomfrey would answer.

The medi-witch pursed her lips, but replied, "Since I'm sure you'd find out anyways, it seems that Mr. Lockhart was Obliviated at some point, and it appears that he cast the charm himself. Now, if you're done with the questions, I have other patients who need my attention. Your belongings are just at the foot of your bed, seeing as Gryffindor Tower has been closed for the year." Madam Pomfrey stood, conjured a jug of water and a clean glass, and then returned to the privacy curtains.

Harry had been reading for more than an hour when the doors to the Hospital Wing opened. Professor Dumbledore led the way in, followed by Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin.

Harry nearly dropped her book in her surprise at seeing the werewolf. "Remus!" she exclaimed, carefully marking the page in her book and setting it on the table next to her. She would've gotten out of bed to hug him, but Madam Pomfrey had re-tucked her in so firmly that her legs had nearly gone numb. "What are you doing here?!"

"Professor McGonagall contacted me when you went missing," Remus said, neatly conjuring a chair next to her bed. The two professors had vanished into Madam Pomfrey's office. "I'm glad to see that you're better now."

Harry sobered immediately. Remus' face, already prematurely lined, looked far more worn than when she'd seen him in Diagon Alley the previous summer.

"How do you get yourself into these sort of situations?" Remus asked, although he gave her a smile anyways.

Harry gave him a sheepish shrug. "Talent, I guess."

"James was always - " he cut himself off. They sat in silence for a long moment. "I apologize. I'm still not used to it." Harry didn't have to ask what he was referring to.

"I still don't believe it sometimes either," she whispered, staring at the bumps made by her knees. "It just feels like he's holed himself up at work again, not - you know." She couldn't quite bring herself to say 'in a coma'.

Remus let out a sigh. "I think I know how you feel," he said.

Harry fidgeted with the edge of the sheets. "Have you got the guardianship thing worked out yet?"

"Unfortunately, the best I've been able to do is convince your Aunt Petunia to take you and Alex for the summer."

"Who?" Harry asked, utterly bewildered. She'd never once heard of anyone named Petunia, let along someone related to her.

"Your mother's sister," Remus answered. "She's a muggle."

Harry gaped at him. She didn't have anything against muggles - how could she, when her own mother having been born to a family of them - but she didn't want to _live _with them either! No flying, for an entire summer! "What about Mrs. Tonks?" she asked, fishing desperately. "Can't she take us?"

Remus shook his head. "I spent most of Wednesday at the Ministry waiting for her. She tried, but Lucius Malfoy has a lot of influence with many powerful people. His argument that he was a far more appropriate guardian for you and your brother was well-received, especially when he brought up the age of his own son. Not to mention, he's much more financially stable than the Tonks' are."

Harry groaned and thumped her head back against the wooden headboard. "Malfoys ruin everything," she muttered, getting a chuckle from Remus.

"It does seem like that sometimes. In any case, as soon as you're better, I'll be taking you to your Aunt's house. She may be a muggle, but she has more blood-right than either the Malfoys or the Tonks'. You'll be safe there."

"Does she know?" Harry asked. "About magic?"

"Of course," Remus assured her. "And her husband knows as well, although they are both adamant that their son remain unawares. I still have to finish up my side of the agreement, but the room will be ready for you when you get there."

"And you'll visit?" Harry asked. If Remus could visit, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Only once a week. Petunia will be telling her son, Dudley - " Harry gave a choked scoff at the name, which Remus ignored except for a small twitch at the corner of his mouth " - that I am from the Child Protective Services and have been assigned the cases of you and your brother. You will play along with this story and address me as Mr. Lupin. Sorry," he added at Harry's incredulous expression. "You will also say that you attend Hogwarts School for Gifted Youths, which is what professors tell muggle-born's parents to say to relatives if they ask."

"What about Alex?"

"He'll finish out his year at Asclepius Academy for Advanced Learners, and then I will escort him to join you at your Aunt's house."

Harry frowned. A month was a long time to spend without Alex at an unknown place. "Will I be able to go to Diagon Alley, if I need to?" she asked.

Remus hesitated. "I'm inclined to discourage you," he said slowly, "but as long as you have your Aunt's permission, I can't forbid you. You still have your father's portkey?"

Harry nodded, hand going to the ring she'd strung around her neck on an old leather thong. The ring had once belonged to her mother, according to her father, but was too feminine for her to wear without getting odd looks from her roommates. Although maybe if she'd just _said_ it was her mother's they might have understood. They all knew that her mother was dead.

"The Chief Unspeakable currently has your father's portkey and the alarm to let him know if either you or Alex use them. A favor to James, apparently." Harry didn't have to ask why the Unspeakable wouldn't give it to Remus.

A sudden idea burst into her head, and she asked, hurriedly, "What did you tell my Aunt about me?"

Lupin's mouth tightened around the corners, but beyond that, there was no visible signs of his disapproval. "Just that you liked to be called Harry."

"Not that I'm a - " she lowered her voice " - girl?"

"I left the decision up to you," Remus said quietly, although his tone was as hard as Harry had ever heard it. She didn't doubt what he wanted her to do. "Just remember that your relatives are Muggles, and have no notion of the state of our world. Lily wasn't on the best of terms with her sister; as far as I can tell, their relationship ended right around the time Lily found out she was a witch."

Harry frowned, but nodded. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask." A buzzing sound came from Remus' robes, and he grumbled to himself as he fished in his pocket until he pulled out his wand, which was vibrating and buzzing. "That's me," he said, standing up and Vanishing his chair. "Back to the Ministry." He didn't sound bitter; just tired. Harry could only imagine how much prejudice he had to ignore every time he set foot in the place.

"Sorry."

Remus looked startled. "It's hardly your fault, Harry. You're like a dau- son to me; I would do it every day for the rest of my life if I had to," he added fiercely.

Harry didn't know quite what to say to that, and ended up settling for a quick, "Thanks," before Remus kissed the top of her head and strode for the doors. She stared after him long past when his robes vanished from view.

"I see that Mr. Lupin has left." Harry's hands scrabbled uselessly at her pajamas until she remembered that her wand was on the table, but by then she'd realized that it was only Professor Dumbledore, with Professor McGonagall standing at his side.

"Er. Sorry," Harry said, flushing in embarrassment.

"No apologies are needed for such a display of self-defense," Dumbledore said kindly, settling into a chair that Harry knew hadn't been there a half-second before, yet couldn't have been conjured since neither Professor McGonagall nor Professor Dumbledore had their wands out. "Dear me, where are my manners!?" Professor Dumbledore exclaimed. He waved his hand, and an identical squashy purple armchair appeared. _Guess that answers that question_, Harry thought.

Professor McGonagall gave Dumbledore a curt nod, but drew her wand and tapped the armchair before sitting down in the newly-transfigured carved wooden chair with midnight blue cushions. Dumbledore chuckled lightly before returning his gaze to Harry.

"How are you feeling, dear boy?" he asked, eyes never straying from her own.

Harry shrugged. "Fine, now." She sensed that Dumbledore wanted more, but didn't know what else to add. "What did Parkinson say?"

"Very little," Professor McGonagall said. "Only that when she woke up, she was in room that you claimed was the Chamber of Secrets, with a severely Obliviated Professor Lockhart and the body of a basilisk, none of which we were able to verify."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "We came out of the pipe, didn't we?"

"The tunnel - or pipe, as you say - unfortunately closed as soon as Professor Lockhart came through, and none of us has been able to find any way to get in. It seems that whatever spells Salazar Slytherin used to protect his Chamber are nigh on unbreakable." Professor Dumbledore didn't look very bothered by the prospect of never getting into the Chamber. "I suspect," he added, "That you would have no trouble getting in."

"Because I'm a Parselmouth."

"Quite." Dumbledore's beard twitched as he smiled. "Between you and me - and Minerva, of course - I dare say that Professor Snape is most put out at the prospect. There are a great deal of potions that call for basilisk parts, none of which have been brewed for decades, and he has always been - ah - _interested_ in stretching the limits of what we know about potions."

Harry stared at him. She couldn't be sure if he was actually implying what she thought he was. So she changed the subject. "You found the diary in my robes?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore looked at her over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "Incidentally, may I inquire as to why you felt the need to destroy it so completely?"

Harry shrugged, glancing quickly at Professor McGonagall, who gave her a tight smile that did nothing to lessen the worry lines between her eyebrows. "Er. I know it sounds a bit crazy - "

"I've found," Dumbledore interrupted, looking up at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the room, "that where magic is involved, there are very few tales that may be immediately written off as 'crazy'."

Harry blinked, uncertain, but when Professor McGonagall gave her a subtle nod, she took a breath and said, "It was Voldemort." Clearly, neither of them were surprised by her declaration. Slightly unsettled by their acceptance of her statement, she continued, "I recognized him when his eyes turned red, just for a second. And since he wanted the diary, I just - you know - stabbed it."

"Stabbed it?" Professor McGonagall asked, eyebrows raised.

Harry nodded. "On the basilisk's fangs."

"The basi…I don't believe…_basilisk_," Professor McGonagall muttered faintly, hand over her heart, slouching a little in her chair.

Professor Dumbledore, on the other hand, said, "And I understand that you managed to kill the basilisk? As I do believe that it is what has been Petrifying the students, it was clearly alive until rather recently."

"Er - yeah, I did. Kill it, I mean."

"And may I inquire as to your methods?"

"I Transfigured a rooster from Parkinson's skirt."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I do recall Minerva saying something about your advanced tutoring. I take it that you've been progressing well?"

Thankfully, Professor McGonagall had recovered enough to say, "Yes, Headmaster. Mr. Potter has come along quite nicely, although I regret that in the past few months I've had to pass off her studies to a few N.E.W.T. students."

"Good, good." Professor Dumbledore stood. "I'm sure that you're quite eager to return to your book, so unless you have anything to add - ?"

Harry interrupted the Headmaster. "Actually, I do." She stuttered to a halt. "I mean - sorry for interrupting, sir - "

"Not at all, Mr. Potter. If anything, you've earned at least that much leniency."

"Er. Right. But Voldemort said something down in the Chamber, about the diary. He called it a - er - a Hrux? No, not that…a cruxle? No…a Horcrux! That's what he said when he tried to Summon it!"

Dumbledore sank back into his armchair, clasping the arms rather tightly, the fabric puckering around his fingertips. "Ah. I see." For a long moment, there was silence.

And then, "Albus? You have heard of this magic before?"

Dumbledore nodded distractedly. "Alas, I must admit that I have," he said, focused once more. "It is a very dark branch of magic - the blackest of black - that I have read about once or twice in passing. If it is true…" he trailed off, fuzzy eyebrows nearly touching in thought. "No matter. A discussion for a later time, Professor McGonagall," he said, cutting his eyes to Harry, who was watching with interest. She didn't have the faintest clue what a Horcrux was, but it was clearly important to both Dumbledore and Voldemort. She shivered slightly; the two most powerful wizards in the past fifty years both interested in the same thing - nothing good could come of it. "Mr. Potter, I caution you never to speak the name again. It will bring you only great pain and trouble." She had never seen Dumbledore so grim, not even during the events of last year.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Headmaster. I mean, no, Headmaster. I mean - "

Dumbledore held up his hand, and Harry subsided. "I understand. Thank you for the information, Mr. Potter. It is more helpful that you could ever know."

"Erm - you're welcome." She fiddled with the top of the sheet again, and when she looked up, both Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had stood and Vanished their chairs.

"You will be receiving a plaque for your services to the school, Mr. Potter. If school were still in session, I daresay that Gryffindor would be assured a win of the House Cup."

Harry flushed at the praise, but couldn't help feeling guilty anyways. "Sir?" she asked hesitantly, "What will happen about Sally-Anne?"

The gentle smile on Dumbledore's face faded. "A great tragedy, to be sure. She was an orphan, and so there is no next-of-kin to present with a memorial plaque. Professor Flitwick has proposed creating a study room in her name. I don't doubt that it will be ready for use by the time students return."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Thank _you_, my dear boy." Professor Dumbledore patted her foot as he passed towards the door.

Professor McGonagall lingered just long enough to say, "Mr. Lupin will be returning at half-five to collect you. Madam Pomfrey will alert you when it's time to get ready."

"Thanks, Professor McGonagall," Harry said fervently. "If it weren't for those lessons, I would've been snake-food."

McGonagall shook her head. "Mr. Potter, the only person responsible for what you've done is you. You alone chose to continue with your studies, no matter that I was the one who advised you to. Now, enjoy your holidays, and be ready for the lessons in autumn." And then she was sweeping out of the room.

After a few minutes spent thinking on the various discussions she'd just had, Harry settled back against her pillows and reopened her book.

* * *

"Here we are," Remus announced, looking only slightly less astounded at the row of identical houses than Harry, but she supposed that he'd seen them at least once before now.

"_This_ is where they live?" Harry asked. The houses were all the same, down to the nearly militaristic gardens, none of which had outlandish decorations or even anything remotely unique about them. The lawns were almost all the same exact height, as if even the grass had been bullied into uniformity.

"A rather well-to-do neighborhood, actually," Remus commented. "Far better than where I live."

Harry didn't say anything else, but she supposed that she was rather spoiled in that regard. The only places she'd ever stayed were the Potter Estate, Longbottom Manor, and Hogwarts, all of which dwarfed these houses by comparison. Remus, though, had to make do with the money he made as a bookseller, which probably wasn't much. She wouldn't shame him by offering money though; even if she tried to get him to take it, he'd refuse.

"Are you ready?" Remus asked, and Harry realized that she'd been silent for a rather long time.

"Yeah. Sure." She wasn't, really. All Harry wanted to do was go home. But home didn't exist anymore, and hadn't since she'd read that letter in the Gryffindor common room.

Lupin lead the way up the neat brick path to the front door, which was a rather boring white; all of the doors at home were different from one another, and none were so unassuming, not even the doors to the waterclosets. He knocked politely on the door, which opened almost immediately to reveal a skinny woman with the longest neck that Harry had ever seen.

The woman - her Aunt Petunia, Harry assumed - was around the same height as Professor McGonagall, although the witch's usual hat gave her a good foot on the muggle. This woman's hair, though, was a dark strawberry blonde, set into tight, unforgiving curls that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Lockhart.

"Mr. Lupin," her Aunt greeted Remus, mouth set into the thinnest line Harry had ever seen - which was saying something, since Professor McGonagall had once appeared to have no mouth at all, just a pinched white line. "Come in."

Harry followed Remus in, dragging her trunk carefully behind her, immensely grateful for the various modifications Remus had made to it so that it was easier to lug around. The inside of the house was no more imaginative than the outside. The only truly remarkable thing about the hallway was the extraordinarily ugly vase just to the side of the door, currently sporting three umbrellas inside of it.

"You must be Harry."

Harry turned away from the vase - it was somehow familiar, although she couldn't figure out why - and looked at her Aunt, only to take a surprise step back. Aunt Petunia's eyes were only a few shades bluer than her own, and the shape was different, narrow instead of almond-shaped. Still, the similarities couldn't be denied.

"Lily's eyes," Aunt Petunia breathed, clearly as shocked as Harry, before she seemed to draw herself up, as if steeling herself for an unpleasant task. "Follow me," she said stiffly, and then started up the stairs, still speaking. "You and your brother will be sharing a room, just across the hall from my son, Dudley. Mr. Lupin has been kind enough to supply the furniture and to facilitate the moving. The guest room is the first door on the right," she gestured to a closed door at the very end of the hall that the staircase put them into. "This one is Dudley's room - " Harry didn't think she could ever mistake it, since her cousin's name was spelled out in great block letters on the door " - and my husband and I are at the very end of the hall. That's off limit's, understood?" She didn't give Harry any chance to respond before she opened yet another bland white door. "This is the bathroom that you, your brother, and Dudley will share. Don't leave anything - "she lowered her voice " - _unnatural_ in there. Dudders doesn't know anything about magic, and I won't have him…_bothered_ by any of it, understood?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said obediently when it became clear that she was waiting for a response.

"Good," Aunt Petunia sniffed. "Here's your room. I don't care what happens to it so long as nothing from - from _your_ kind gets out. Make sure you keep it clean, I won't have it looking like a pig sty."

She finally moved aside and Harry stepped into the room she would be living in for the foreseeable future. A bunk bed took up the vast majority of the room, and she already knew she was going to sleep on the top bunk. There was a single armoire to one side of the door, a mostly-empty shelf on the other side of the door, and, across the room to the other side of the window from the bed, a single desk that Harry knew she and Alex would fight over. When she saw that there was a stretch of blank wall long enough for both her and Alex's trunks to sit side-by-side, Harry grinned and turned to Remus.

"Thanks," she said. Remus raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and Harry found her Aunt Petunia - hovering just beyond the threshold, as she didn't quite dare to set foot into such a _magical_ room, even if there was nothing magical about it. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

The woman hardly acknowledged the thanks beyond a stiff nod. "Will you be staying for supper?" she asked Remus, who respectfully declined. Harry was disappointed - having Remus around would make meeting the male members of the Dursley household that much less awkward, and she still couldn't decide whether or not to tell her relatives that she was a girl.

Before Remus left, he gave Harry a long squeeze and told her, sternly, "Be good. The alternatives aren't half this pleasant."

Harry nodded. "What about mail?"

He shook his head. "If you get permission to go to Diagon Alley, you can rent an owl there, or reply with the same owl. James' owls, as far as I can tell, have decided to stay on the estate."

"Oh. You'll write, though, won't you."

Remus nodded. "And I'll be seeing you every Tuesday."

"All right," Harry said, even thought it wasn't quite. She watched him as he quietly descended the stairs and let himself out the front door. If the window in her new room had showed the front walk, she would've watched him for longer, but she could only see the back garden, which was - thankfully - a little less dull than the front garden.

She spent a whole hour setting her belongings up to her liking, and then, out of sheer boredom, started on the work that had been assigned her last day of class. The front door opened and closed, rather loudly, followed by heavy footsteps up the stairs. Harry was tempted to see what her cousin looked like, but decided that dinner would be any time, and she didn't want to risk her Aunt's ire on the very first day.

So instead, she ignored the quiet voices that drifted through the floorboards from downstairs - the kitchen, most likely, judging by the occasional clanging of metal - and forged through first a Charms essay and then the longest chapter she'd ever read in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, until Aunt Petunia's voice - shriller than she'd remembered - called up the stairs, "Supper!"


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Last chapter! No warnings, unless you're sensitive when talking about menstruation.

* * *

It turned out that Dudley had only been granted permission to visit Number Four for the weekend due to Aunt Petunia telling his boarding school, Smeltings, a sob story of how her precious Dudder's uncle had been in a terrible car crash and was now in a coma. When Dudley returned to Smeltings, Harry let out a sigh of relief.

She didn't really _mind_ her overly-large cousin, who was built along the lines of Millicent Bulstrode (only slightly less hefty than Goyle, the smaller of Malfoy's two sidekicks), but it was difficult to pretend that everything in the household was normal when what she really wanted to do was investigate such ordinary appliances as the toaster. And that wasn't even mentioning how utterly terrible Harry was at Dudley's favorite computer game; he took great pleasure in thrashing her multiple times in a row, gloating each time he beat her rather pitiful scores.

At the same time, when she waved goodbye to Dudley as Uncle Vernon drove him back to Smeltings late on Sunday afternoon, she was sad to see him go. Without her cousin, Harry would be alone in the house with Aunt Petunia for most of the day, and would have to sit through awkward meals with her Aunt and Uncle each day.

While both her Aunt and Uncle knew about magic, it made them chary around her. Harry would often catch Uncle Vernon staring at her with narrowed eyes, but the large man would glance away uncomfortably when he noticed that she had seen him. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, didn't care if Harry caught her staring. The first Monday, when Harry mustered up the nerve to ask Aunt Petunia about her sister, the woman snapped out, "I didn't know she was dead until a few weeks ago," and then bustled to the stove to fuss over a pot of tea.

The next day, when Remus visited, Harry asked, "Why didn't anyone ever tell Aunt Petunia that my mum died?"

Remus shoved his hands into his coat pockets, staring at the copse of trees ahead. "I was busy taking care of you and Alex," he said slowly. "Not to mention, I didn't have the least idea of where to find Lily's family. James…" He sighed. "Well, James had other things on his mind.

Harry nodded, but still couldn't shake the feeling that no matter what, _someone_ should have at least informed Petunia about her sister's death. She didn't think she'd ever forgive someone who neglected to tell her that Alex had died, although even with the minimal information she had about her mother and Aunt Petunia's relationship with each other, she knew that her own relationship with Alex was very, very different.

* * *

The week passed slowly after Remus left that first Tuesday. Her friends had all been woken up from their Petrified states, and most had written her, but even their letters weren't enough to stave off boredom. Harry finished her school assignments - which she had received by owl on Monday - and would turn them in to Hogwarts the next Monday when the owl was supposed to come back to deliver more class work. For a few hours on Thursday, Harry managed to concentrate on the last three chapters of _Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy_, but with the restrictions on magic in the muggle world, she wasn't able to practice what she'd read about.

Harry knew that it was only a matter of time until she began to bounce off the walls. What she really wanted to do was get her broom out of her trunk and fly. It had only been a week since she'd left Hogwarts - not even a week, really, only just six days - but she hadn't flown for nearly three months, not since the last Quidditch match.

On Saturday morning, Aunt Petunia finally got fed up with Harry's constant fidgeting. "Stop that," her Aunt snapped over her dry toast.

It took Harry a few seconds to realize that she was tapping her fingers against the side of her chair. She stilled her fingers. "Sorry, Aunt Petunia."

Uncle Vernon grunted something that sounded vaguely like, "You better be," from behind his newspaper, groping blindly for his morning tea. Harry pushed it so that he could pick it up.

"I'm going to the garden shop today," Aunt Petunia announced a few minutes later.

"Fine, fine," Uncle Vernon agreed, waving a meaty hand.

"I'll need someone to help with the heavy lifting." She stared meaningfully at Harry. It took Harry half of a minute to realize what her Aunt wanted.

"Oh - er - I'll help?" She wasn't sure how much help she'd be for heavy lifting, but anything was better than waiting for her next batch of class work.

"Well, get yourself cleaned up, I won't go out in public with your hair looking like that."

Harry gingerly touched her hair. She'd cut it the previous day, and it was now as messy as she'd ever seen it, refusing to so much as stick up in an orderly fashion. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," she agreed.

Despite what Aunt Petunia had said, they didn't actually leave the house until closer to eleven. Harry's Aunt was wearing a pale pink sun dress, with a matching hat and shoes. If the dress hadn't been pink, Harry might have thought it pretty, but she supposed it might have also been that pink didn't look very good with her Aunt's hair.

By half three, Harry's face was sweaty and streaked with dirt, but she no longer had excess energy. Indeed, she felt like nothing more than flopping onto the grass in the shade, with a cool glass of lemonade to drink.

At four, Aunt Petunia peeled off her gardening gloves and patted at her limp curls. "That's enough for today."

Harry would've cheered if she hadn't been panting. Not only had they fertilized the entire garden - front and back - but she had also mown the lawn, clipped the bushes, and transported her Aunt's rose clippings from the piles her Aunt made to the compost bin. Aunt Petunia didn't trust her with her precious roses, but Harry didn't much care to tell her that she'd trimmed far more dangerous plants at Hogwarts; the merest mention of magic had her Aunt pursing her lips and changing the subject.

* * *

Another week passed without much fuss. As with the week before, Harry finished the assignments from the professors within four days of receiving the packet of tasks, although Remus had needed to help her with her Charms essay during his weekly visit.

* * *

She woke on Friday to something slowly tickling its way down the inside of her thigh. For one horrible second, Harry was convinced that a spider had found its way into her pajamas, and she bolted into a sitting position, nearly banging her head on the ceiling, and throwing the covers jerkily off her legs. The scream died in her throat when she saw the small rusty red stain in the slowly decompressing indentation she'd made as she slept.

"…no, oh no, it's not - this isn't happening." Harry realized she was muttering when she had to stop the steady chain of words to breathe.

Somehow, she managed to wash herself and change into a clean pair of clothes, stuffing the stained pair of boxers and pajama bottoms into a plastic bag nicked from Dudley's bathroom drawer. The sheets from her bunk followed, and then she was forcing her feet into her boots, shrugging into the first set of robes she could find, never mind that they were wrinkled and too short in the sleeve. A cloak followed the robes, and somehow her wand and her mostly-empty coin purse were in her pockets when she scribbled a note to her Aunt and Uncle even though she didn't remember putting them there.

Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten as dawn approached. Harry stuffed the bag with the soiled linens into Number Eight's trashcan before running to the park just off of Magnolia Crescent. Her hand trembled slightly when she raised her wand, and it took a moment for her to still the quivers.

The Knight Bus appeared. Harry didn't wait for the conductor to start his usual speech before pressing a galleon into his hand and saying, "Leaky Cauldron."

She sat gingerly on the nearest bed, only barely registering that the usual armchairs weren't there. Still too early, she supposed.

Two people got off of the bus and six more got on before the conductor, Stan, announced her stop with a loud, "Leaky Cauldron, up next!"

Harry followed a pair of tired-looking hags into the Leaky Cauldron. The Knight Bus disappeared with a loud _bang!_ just as Harry threw the pinch of Floo powder she'd bought from Tom onto the flames. "Herberts and Rose Herbal Remedies," Harry whispered, and the green flames whisked her away.

It was by far the quickest Floo journey that Harry had ever taken, which was odd considering that she'd most likely been closer to the shop over Christmas. She wondered if it had anything to do with when the pub and the herbal shop had gotten their Floo's linked up, but decided that it didn't really matter, since all Floo journeys were linked through the Ministry in the end.

When she stepped out of the other grate, the shop wasn't empty like she'd thought it would be. Most of the shop was shadowed, but a series of floating candles above the glass counter cast their light onto the rough wooden workbench that a short woman wearing a set of dark lavender robes was chopping herbs on.

"Liam, is that you? I told you not to come back until - " The woman broke off, half turned away from the bench. Her knife stilled. "Miss Potter, wasn't it?"

"Harry. Just Harry," Harry managed to croak out, hands clenching nervously in her pockets. "I - I didn't know where else to go." Against her will, tears started to well up in her eyes. She blinked furiously, glad, for once, for her spectacles, which hid most of the shine of the tears.

Liam's mother slowly turned around the rest of the way, wiping her hands on a green-streaked cloth hanging under the counter. "Call me Ellen, lassie. I take it you got my message?"

Harry's eyebrows scrunched together for a long moment of confusion before she remembered that last letter from the King. The hesitation had been too long though, and Ellen gave her a gentle smile of understanding.

"Not the letter, then? Well, what's got you so worked up?"

Harry fidgeted uncertainly in front of the glass counter, staring at a bottle full of bright green potion, labeled in what had to be Russian. Ellen waited patiently, using the time to direct her wand to the still-flaring Floo, effectively dousing the last remnants of green.

"I'm - I've - I - " Harry choked before she could get anything else out, and she swiped angrily at a tear as it trickled down her cheek. Frustrated, she burst out, louder than intended, "I'm bleeding!"

Ellen accepted the news calmly. "Are you injured?" she inquired. "Liam says that you're with muggles now. Was it something in their house?"

"How does the King know that? Never mind, I don't want to know." Her frustration had faded, and now she was just embarrassed. "No, I'm not…hurt. I'm bleeding from," she gestured towards her nether region. "From - you know."

Understanding dawned on Ellen's face, but was shunted aside in favor of another kind smile. "Come through here, I'll get you all fixed up." She opened the gate that stretched between the glass display counter and the wall.

Her cheeks still flaming, Harry stepped into the back area, and then allowed Ellen to usher her through the dark rectangle that immediately brightened into a tiny kitchen-cum-sitting room, no larger than the smallest cellar-room in Potter Manor. Ellen pushed her into the nearest chair - painted a cheerful yellow, with a embroidered cream-colored cushion on the seat - and proceeded to bustle about the tiny room, fixing a pot of tea by hand. While she waited for the water to come to a boil, Ellen sat herself down across from Harry.

"I remember reading your mother's obituary in the _Daily Prophet_." She shook her head. "There's no excuse a midwife can make for doing what that - that - " Ellen shook her head again, in disgust this time.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. The house elves had never mentioned anything about the day she and Alex were born except that there had been complications, and Remus and her dad had been even more closed-lips about the subject.

"You don't know?" Ellen seemed genuinely surprised. The kettle began to whistle. Harry bit her tongue while Ellen poured the water into the teapot, and then set the lid on top and levitated the teapot, two teacups, and a small plate of already-buttered crumpets to the table. Only after Ellen had settled herself back down did she speak, slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. "The midwife hired by your parents was meant to be someone else, but her sister's family died a week beforehand. So the midwife sent in a replacement. The replacement was…inexperienced. And young. Too young, really. She had seen only a few births, but never helped with any. Medical spells are some of the trickiest out there; too easy to make a mistake."

Harry nodded. Every child knew how difficult healing spells were. Otherwise, anyone could heal each other, or even themselves. Ellen paused in her story to pour the tea, pushing the first cup to Harry with a, "Drink up. It'll help with the cramps."

Harry blew on the steaming beverage, and then took a sip even though she didn't have any cramps.

Ellen drank some herself, and slowly lowered the cup. Harry predicted the next sentence before the first syllable was spoken. "The midwife didn't even realize she'd made a mistake until it was too late."

She drank more tea even though she didn't feel like it; the hot liquid seemed to stall at a large knot in her throat.

Ellen gave a long sigh. "I didn't think I'd be the one to have to explain things to you, though. How much do you already know?"

Harry shrugged, swallowed hard, and then said, "Just the basics, I guess."

Ellen fixed her with a hard stare. "Have you been taught about sex?"

She spluttered through a mouthful of tea. "Ye - yeah." The Quidditch talk often took a less-than-sport-related direction in the locker room. "A bit." Ellen just arched a disbelieving eyebrow at her. Harry caved, cheeks burning hotter than ever. "The boys said some things."

Ellen gave an amused chuckle. "Don't ever believe anything any boy says to you, dearie. They're far too easy to please. With women it's a bit harder…"

By the time Ellen finished her extraordinarily educational talk about sex, Harry was sure that she could've fried an egg on her face. But the spells Ellen had made her perform repetitively - with the woman's own wand, no less - were useful, and not just for protection.

"But what about this summer?" Harry asked. "I can't do magic at my Aunt's house." Too close to muggles, and there weren't any of the wards that protected Ministry interference like there were at Potter Manor.

"You'll have to do it the old fashioned way," Ellen said matter-of-factly, standing up to clear the long-empty teapot from the table.

Harry wrinkled her nose as Ellen jabbed her wand at a tall cupboard in the narrow hallway between the kitchen and the front store; a large square of white fabric burst out, the door banging shut behind it.

"Here's how to fold it."

Half an hour later, Harry stepped off the Knight Bus in front of Number Four, Privet Drive. She had never hated being a girl more than she did at that very moment. First breasts, and now monthly bleeding. Being a girl sometimes seemed like a cosmic joke, or at very least, a curse from the gods.

* * *

The rest of May passed in a routine of homework, helping Aunt Petunia around the house, writing letters, and waiting. Remus showed up every Tuesday, and Aunt Petunia grudgingly but politely served him tea each and every time.

Remus never had any news about Harry's father, but no news was better than bad news. His condition hadn't worsened, but neither had he gotten any better. Once, Remus Apparated her to an empty field in the middle of nowhere, and Harry spent a pleasurable afternoon flying. She never told him about her illicit visit to Knockturn Alley, and although he gave her an odd look that first Tuesday after his visit - the last day of her cycle - he never said anything even though Harry was _sure_ that Aunt Petunia had said something to him about her absence.

* * *

Dudley returned two weeks before Alex was due back. He spent the first two days hanging out with his primary school friends, only one of whom attended Smeltings with him. Harry wasn't too impressed with his little gang, but since the feeling was mutual, neither she nor Dudley's friends bothered each other. Dudley had, apparently, warned them off on the premise that she - as his cousin - was off-limits for bullying.

Harry fed Dudley the lies that Remus had told her to; Aunt Petunia let her pick out the next type of flowers to put in the back garden. She snuck off to Diagon Alley and came back with fairybells. Aunt Petunia gave the delicate while flowers a single frown before pointing Harry towards a shady plot of dirt almost directly across from the kitchen window over the sink. Twice in the following few days, Harry caught her gazing at them with something approaching fondness.

With Dudley once more in the house, Harry had to cut down on the amount of time she spent studying magic in her room, so that she only was able to open her books during the early morning hours when Dudley was snoring almost as loud as Ron in the room just across the hallway, or in the after-dinner hours when he was either roaming the neighborhood with his friends ("having tea" at one of the other boys' house) or watching the telly with Uncle Vernon. Accordingly, Harry spent even more time in the backyard, staring at the sky and wishing she could be flying. Whenever Aunt Petunia caught Harry 'lazing about', she would put her to work pulling imaginary weeds, sweeping up imaginary leaves, or assisting with chores that Harry had often seen the house elves using magic to do in less than a fifth of the time it took her without.

* * *

_April 24, 1993_  
_  
Dear Harry,_  
_What do you mean, you've got some things to look into?! I only get to write once every two weeks,_  
_and you leave me with three measly lines!_  
_Tell me everything, I mean it._  
_Mum agreed to get an owl. I don't think she likes having to go to Diagon Alley every time I have a_  
_letter. Plus, she'll be able to send me things during the school year. Dad's not so easily swayed, but _  
_she'll have him won over by the end of August, I'm sure of it. She's also somewhat okay with the _  
_idea of you coming over, if you need a place to stay until mid-July, but there's really only room for you,_  
_ so your brother wouldn't be able to come. A shame, really, since he had some really interesting stories _  
_about Asclepius Academy. We'll be taking an extended vacation to France until the very last day of _  
_August - cutting it rather fine - but it will be so interesting to learn about the magical communities in_  
_ France! There's so much history that relates to Paris, and I think I may have seen a book about _  
_Versailles in the Hogwarts Library near the beginning of last year, so there's even a chance of magical_  
_ history there, too!_  
_Sorry I don't have anything else to write. It's not very interesting here._  
_Make sure to tell me everything._

_Love,_  
_Hermione_

* * *

_April 25, 1993_  
_  
Dear Hermione,  
This is going to be a very long letter. Hogwarts was shut down on Wednesday. A girl died. Sally-Anne_  
_ Perks, from our year, a Ravenclaw. It was a basilisk that was Petrifying students, but Perks was killed. _  
_It's really just a matter of luck that none of the others died. Look on page 14 of your copy of Fantastic  
Beasts and Where to Find Them, and you'll see for yourself how small the odds are that it took so many_  
_ attacks for someone to die._  
_I found out about the basilisk but didn't tell anyone, so is it my fault? I think it might be. If they'd known, _  
_would they have shut down Hogwarts? There was no proof, either, except for the Petrifications and a _  
_suspicion. Still, I just can't help but wonder what might have happened. But I didn't say anything, because_  
_ I'd just gotten the news of my father, and I didn't have anywhere else to go if they closed Hogwarts. I _  
_can't stop blaming myself._  
_I think I avenged her, though. It turns out that Parkinson was being controlled by an enchanted diary. _  
_Headmaster Dumbledore has it now, but I kind of destroyed it, after killing the basilisk. Hermione, it was_  
_ terrifying. Even worse than in first year with Quirrell, though it was a different sort of scary. Quirrell at least _  
_looked like a man. The basilisk was - I don't know how to describe it. I can't decide if it would've been worse _  
_if I hadn't been able to understand what it was saying as it was stalking me, or not._  
_But that's what's been happening at Hogwarts. They're supposed to administer the Restorative Draught_  
_ today. I'm already at my Aunt's house. My mum's sister, it turns out. I didn't know I had an Aunt. I don't_  
_ think she knew that my mum had died, or that me and Alex even existed, until Remus Lupin - that's Alex's_  
_ godfather - asked her to take us for the summer. She doesn't look anything like the photos of my mum. _  
_She's really skinny, and her hair is more blonde than my mum's was. Her son is really huge, though, _  
_somewhere between Crabbe and Goyle in size. He's just left to return to his school for the rest of term,_  
_ so it'll just be me and my Aunt and Uncle. They know about magic, but don't want Dudley to know. I think _  
_they're scared he'll get contaminated or something._  
_I hope that was enough._

_Best,_  
_Harry_

* * *

**April 26, 1993**  
**  
Dear Harry,  
It's been a while, yeah? Mum kept your gift for me. It's great; it'll give me something to chase after  
this summer, since Dad's confiscated all of my Snitches until I catch up on all of my classes. I have  
O.W.L.'s next year, and he doesn't want me to fall behind. I don't want to fall behind either, but that's  
Dad for you.  
Hopefully the rest of school wasn't too bad for you. Professor Sprout told me what happened with  
Fred and Ron, and the other attacks after mine. I don't remember much, before you ask. Just an odd  
reflection in the window, and then waking up. Too bad we didn't get to play that game we promised  
each other, yeah? I'll see if I can get my parents to let you come over, so ask your Dad for me, kay?  
Happy summer, and thanks again for the gift.**

**Yours,  
Cedric**

* * *

_**April 26, 1993**_  
_**  
Harry,  
We've finally been woken up. Ron swears he's cramping from being in that stupid position, but we  
know better. **_**He's just doing it to get more biscuits out of Mum.**_** Think we can meet up in Diagon Alley  
again this summer? McGonagall had some pretty wild stories about what you were up to without us.  
**_**Write if you can meet in Diagaon Alley with a date and time. Write if you can't, and we'll find you or  
arrange for you to come over to ours.**_** Mum seems to know your Dad alright, so we'll ask her to ask him,  
or something.**_

_**Gred and **_**Forge**

* * *

_April 27, 1993_  
_  
Dear Cedric,  
Whatever Professor Sprout said is probably true._  
_I'm glad you like your gift. I started making it before I remembered you'd been attacked, so I just sent it on _  
_anyways. Runes are really interesting. Are you in the class?_  
_Sorry for all the work you must have. I'm still getting extra work from the professors every week; I can't imagine_  
_ how much you've got to catch up on. I don't know if I'll be able to get away from my guardians. I don't know if _  
_you've heard, but my dad's in a coma, so I'm with my Aunt and Uncle right now. They're muggles; I think my _  
_Aunt would have a heart attack if I asked to go fly a broom with a friend._  
_Good luck studying._

_Best,_  
_Harry_

* * *

**April 27, 1993**  
**  
Harry,  
_We just heard about your Dad._ Sorry about our last letter. _We know we're insensitive gits. We _  
_unworthy fools beg your eminence's forgiveness._**

**_Gred and_ Forge**

* * *

_April 27, 1993_  
_  
Dear Fred and George,  
Thanks for the letter. It's good to know that you're both awake, and Ron, too. Cedric's already written _  
_about studying for O.W.L.'s. I can't see the two of you doing that all summer, though._  
_I'll see if I can meet you in Diagon Alley, but no guarantees. I'm with my muggle Aunt and Uncle, so I'd _  
_have to wait for Remus to escort me, and Alex once he gets back from school._

_Best,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_May 8, 1993_

_Dear Harry,_  
_WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THERE WAS A BASILISK?! I can't believe you're alive! And you killed it! On your  
own! How on earth did you do it?! Have you any idea how hard it was for me to wait two weeks to write  
to you?!  
Also, did you get the third question for Defense Against the Dark Arts? I don't know who assigned it this  
time, but I haven't the faintest clue how to go about answering it. Honestly. It's like they think we've got  
the Hogwarts library for reference.  
I forgot to answer your questions from a previous letter. I really can't decide what elective to chose, now  
that we know that Hogwarts will be open in September. I got the notice with the last set of homework,  
along with the little brochures. Ancient Runes and Arithmancy look so useful - they're needed for a lot of  
jobs - but it would be really fascinating to study muggles from the magical point of view, and there really  
are so many creatures that I don't know about, too. And divination is such a well-known subject for  
witches and wizards that it's even part of muggle lore! Hopefully I'll be able to speak to Professor  
McGonagall before I decide. Have you decided what to take yet?  
Since you're with muggles, maybe we could organize a dinner or something, once our last classwork set  
is done and your brother has gotten back. Tell me what they say._

_Love,  
Hermione_

* * *

_**May 9, 1993**_

_**Harry-  
Why the hell haven't you written? What're the Dursley's like? I know you've left Hogwarts by  
now. Remus sent me a letter a week ago, saying he'd meet me right off the carriages.  
Anyways, write back, will you.**_

_**-Alex**_

* * *

_May 10, 1993_

_Dear Hermione,  
My Aunt didn't seem to interested in a dinner, sorry. She's not exactly a fan of magic, and they really  
don't want Dudley to find out. They've even offered to put locks on my door before he gets back, if  
you can believe it.  
I've decided to do Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. Remus said that  
Divination's a waste of time, and that unless you're already got the Inner Eye, it's pointless. Either  
you've got it, or you don't. I was torn about Muggle Studies until he pointed out that I'm living with  
muggles right now, so I'm probably learning more about them this summer than I could in two  
entire years of classes. I don't know if I agree with him, but it did make the decision easier.  
About the Defense homework - look in the Charm's textbook. There's a small passage on page 208  
that relates to protective spells. I'm pretty sure that a Shield Charm would work in the situation given  
in the problem.  
I Transfigured a rooster. And I'm still alive, so don't worry about it._

_Best,  
Harry_

* * *

_May 11, 1993_

_Dear Alex,  
Sorry I didn't write. There's been a lot going on. I'll be seeing you in a month, and I don't want to worry  
you, so I'll just tell you when you get here. Just concentrate on your studies.  
The Dursley's are alright. They mostly leave me alone when I'm in our room - which is going to be  
cramped with the two of us - but sometimes I help Aunt Petunia in the garden or around the house if I'm  
bored enough. I think if we just keep to ourselves as much as possible we'll be okay. And Remus will be  
visiting every week, so at least we'll have something to look forward to._

_Love,  
Harry_

* * *

_May 22, 1993_

_Dear Harry,  
Once again, there's not much for me to say. It's really rather quiet here. I've found an old bicycle, so I can  
ride to the nearest library quicker than I could walk, but that's really the only thing of interest. Mum and  
Dad have started me on a French language program on our computer to help me refresh my skills. I haven't  
been to France since I was seven, so it's quite a good idea, and it keeps me entertained. Mum knows a fair  
bit of French as well, although Dad speaks German. He keeps on wanting to visit the Alps in winter, but  
Mum's really not a fan of the slopes there, since they're always so busy.  
It's too bad your Aunt is so suspicious of magic. My parents are quite adept at getting along with people  
they don't like, not that they wouldn't like them.  
When is your brother due back? I would expect around the time we would normally get out, but he was  
there to pick you up from the platform last year, so I realized that he had to get out a bit earlier than us.  
I think that I'll probably end up doing the same subjects as you. Remus had a very good point about  
Muggle Studies, and if he has such a poor view of Divination, there's little point in me taking it when I  
am quite sure I haven't got a single ounce of this 'inner eye' he spoke of. I've never had visions or strong  
feelings of things to come, or any of that rubbish. Which classes do you think Neville will take? Mum gave  
me the letter, so I know not to try and reach him._

_Love,  
Hermione_

* * *

_May 23, 1993_

_Dear Hermione,  
It's good that it's quiet, sometimes. I've been helping my Aunt in her garden, and I can see why Neville  
likes Herbology so much. I'll have to visit the greenhouse Professor Sprout lets him into sometime, to  
see if she's got any other suggestions for muggle gardens. If you get to stop by Diagon Alley, go into the  
flower shop near the Daily Prophet building. They can get you some quite pretty flowers for a good price.  
I've seen three fairies since I planted some fairybells just last week.  
I'm guessing that Neville will go for Care of Magical Creatures for sure - it's a relatively easy, hands-on  
course, and a lot of the older students say that it's fun - but beside that, I'm really not sure. I can't see  
him doing Muggle Studies, the only reason I was interested was because my mum was muggleborn, but  
I can't really see him in Arithmancy or Divination either. Ancient Runes is a rather intensive course, and  
I can't see him needing it. He's the Heir Apparent, so he's all but required to go into politics. Alex will,  
too, actually, but he'll probably try and pass it off to me. We just hope that Dad'll get better._

_Best,  
Harry_

* * *

**June 2, 1993**

**Harry, guess what!? Dad won the Thousand Galleon Draw at work! _We're heading right out of _  
_country to visit our brother Bill in Egypt. Ginny is really excited, though Mum's going spare_  
_trying to make us study._ Ronnie's being a good little boy. _He doesn't want to be held back to _  
_Ginny's year. Percy's even being nice to him and helping him study, when he's not writing letters_  
_ in his room._ We think he's got a girlfriend, but he denies it, doesn't even turn red or anything.  
_And he got Mum to put a charm on his door so that we can't get in. We've been staking it out, _  
_but he even locks it when he's gone to the loo. He'll slip up eventually, though, and then _  
_we'll have him._  
_Keep going on the Diagon Alley front, though. We don't leave until July, so we've got a bit of_  
_ time to meet up._ Dad says we're not getting back until the last few days of August. It'll be a tight one.  
_And thanks, you know, for getting Hogwarts open for next year._ We'd go barmy being  
homeschooled by Mum.**

**Forge and _Gred_**

**_P.S. Turns out, even if you could get to Diagon Alley, Mum won't let us go. She's started carrying _  
_around her clock, the one that tells her what any of our family's generally up to at the time. We tried_  
_ to sneak out to the Lovegood's stream (we think crawfish might be a good ingredient for one of _  
_our little suprises) but she headed off us and made us degnome the garden._ We'll be sure to get  
you something interesting from Egypt, though.**

* * *

_June 4, 1993_

_Fred and George -_  
_Have fun in Egypt. I think Remus will take me and Alex to Diagon Alley at least once this summer, so  
if you two need something that your mum won't let you pick up, just let me know, and I'll grab it for  
you on one of the trips._

_\- Harry_

* * *

_June 6, 1993_

_Dear Harry,_  
_This will be my last letter for a while. My grandmother fell and broke her hip, and will be staying with  
us for the next month or so. She's just as aware as ever, though, and Mum and Dad are making me  
pack away anything that has to do with magic. The thing is, Grandmother is very Catholic. I think  
Mum and Dad are worried that she'll totally break, or try and get me put into an asylum, or have  
me exorcised, or something. So no more owls, either.  
But I do think that you're right about Neville's choices. His Gran might have some things to say  
about his choices, but I can't see him in Arithmancy or Muggle Studies. Ancient Runes, though,  
have more than a few applications to herbology and garden upkeep, so he might be interested in  
that. I wish that it was easier to contact him. We'll have to wait until summer's nearly over to  
speak, assuming I can find any owls in France.  
Best wishes for summer. Say 'hi' to Alex for me._

_Love,  
Hermione_

* * *

_June 7, 1993_

_Dear Hermione,  
I hope this letter gets to you before your grandmother moves in. Sorry for her troubles, I hope  
she gets better soon. It's only two more weeks until Alex gets here, and I've got Dudley for  
company starting tomorrow. It's probably a good thing that I won't be sending so many letters.  
Aunt Petunia wouldn't be happy if Dudley saw an owl coming into my room.  
Have a great summer._

_Best,  
Harry_

* * *

It was the hottest day Harry had yet experienced at Privet Drive when she finally saw the same car that had delivered her to the muggle neighborhood more than a month before turn the corner. She was alone on the front stoop, wearing a an old shirt of Alex's and a pair of Dudley's castoff jeans, rolled up to just below her knee. Aunt Petunia was inside working on dinner, and she wasn't sure where Dudley was; he'd left nearly two hours previous, but only after Petunia had made him promise to be home in time to welcome his other cousin to the house. Apparently, he'd forgotten how to read his watch (which was a rather expensive model, according to his bragging).

When the car rolled to a stop, Harry opened the door and bounced on the spot while first a familiar trunk, and then a familiar head of hair emerged. She didn't know who initiated the hug, but she didn't much care. It had been far too long since she'd seen her brother, and too much had happened for her to care that they were supposed to be two brothers and that boys didn't hug.

"You got taller," Harry said into the side of Alex's neck after she stopped squeezing him so hard. He'd shot up more than half a foot since last September; Harry had grown as well, but not nearly as much.

"You shrunk," Alex said, and Harry could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Really?" she asked, half-whine and half-sigh. She pulled back, and found his trunk to be already on Remus' shoulder.

Remus gestured to the house. Harry sighed again, but led the way up the path to the door, which Aunt Petunia was in the process of opening.

"That's her?" Alex whispered, eying their Aunt with something approaching shock. "She looks like a horse."

"Alex!" Harry hissed.

But Alex just gave her a sideways smirk. It did little to hide the mixture of anger and grief in his eyes.

For the third time in two minutes, Harry sighed. It would be a long summer, for everyone who called Number Four, Privet Drive, their home.

* * *

**A/N:** So, that's it for this one. I've started on book three, but it may be a while. School is really slamming me this quarter, and I've got a few other stories in the works as well. I hope you enjoyed this installment, and I'll update with a temporary chapter when I post the next one! Thanks for reading!


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